Louis Rask

I am not a good writer. In theory this will change over time. You’re welcome to stay and experience that with me.

Writings

Followers

Following

Louis Rask

I am not a good writer. In theory this will change over time. You’re welcome to stay and experience that with me.

Writings

Followers

Following

Reawakened

Louis Rask

1 min read

“Why are you here?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as he looked at me. He wore the same blank expression that he always had, devoid of life or emotion, but I could see the malice dancing in his eyes. He had never been to hide that from me. I knew where to look.

“I don’t need you anymore. I killed you for a reason. How are you here?”

Again, silence. He took two steps towards me, calm...

Drama

In Time Gone By

Louis Rask

1 min read

In time gone by, I knew you.

I knew you, just as you knew me.

In time gone by, my heart would mourn for the feelings that I allowed to die on my tongue.

Their death was necessary, vital even.

For had they been allowed to live my whole world might have died.

In time gone by, I loved you.

In time gone by, I believed you loved me even if you would never speak the words aloud.

I still don’t know...

Poetry

Romance

All In The Family

Louis Rask

2 min read

The afternoon was crisp, and clear, without a cloud in the sky. The cool breeze felt wonderful against my flushed skin, even if the sun was a bit much for my taste. An altogether pleasant day when separated from the gunshot wound I was currently nursing in my lower abdomen.

I groaned in an attmept to stifle the burning ache as I righted myself against the rooftop parapet. Despite the pressure of...

Drama

Crime

Echoes

Louis Rask

1 min read

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger. Each moment in time repeated by a parade of the dead. Everything that passes before our eyes, and each step that we take, bear the markings of those who came befote.

Each towering strucutre like a tombstone standing proudly within the graveyard of our cities. The writhing of traffic upon our streets as the clattering of bones within the cr...

Poetry

Drama