Title: The Lark
by luke from Warwickshire | in writing, fiction
All my thoughts ceased, the rusty cogs of my brain segmented together forming pure, flawless HORROR. Clinging to my knotted hair were unseen venomous fangs. Clawing at my severed jumper were concealed serrated claws. Furrowing at my scathed boots were obscured squelching eels. And through all this I walked on, petrified to even look. The opening of an alleyway came murderously close, scowling at me, drawing me in. I turned, I waited. My eyes rapidly flickered, shooting at the crinkled bushes. They were getting closer, bearing down on me, eyeing their prey. Startled, I was physically unable to budge. A moment on I was unexpectedly, vigorously struck down. My eyelids split for but a millisecond to reveal the eerie silhouettes of three nooses. One accompanied by Victor, one accompanied by Seanore and one empty. My eyes shut.
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