Archive for blood

Soothsayer

Posted in Fantasy Stories, Posts, Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Confusion, it is like a fog, a battle to be fought internally.  It covers our ears with cotton, our eyes masked with cloth, and it leaves us wondering how we got there in the first place.  It is what makes us human, when faced with horror and pain, and sadness.  It is-

“UGH!  Why can’t I ever finish this in peace?”  Shouted Alissa, more frustrated than she could ever remember being.  “What?  I just wanted to see what you’re up to, that’s all,” said her brother defensively.  Alissa rolled her eyes.  “Get out Ian!”  He was probably the most annoying creature  on earth.  Ian was older than her by four years, and she’s already caught up to him, in height and in mind.  “You’re such a cute little sister, especially when you get annoyed.  Is ‘wittle Alli getting annoyed?”  He smirked.  “”Get out!”  Alissa yelled, knowing full well that she was only feeding his immature gags.  “Awwwwwww.”  he swooned teasingly.  Alissa pursed her lips and stood up, facing her brother.  Ian raised his eyebrows in an expression of mockery.  “You think you can take me?”  He said sarcastically.  “Yes, but I’m simply getting up in order to show you where the door is.  You seem to have lost your way.”  she said.  You could cut yourself on the razor sharp edge of sarcasm in her tone.  “Ok, ok fine.  You win.  But you know what that means, right?”  Alissa shook her head.  “No.”  “I get to embarrass you as much as I want in front of your friends,”  he said smugly.  “What the hell?  How does that even remotely make sense?”  exclaimed Alissa, in annoyance.  “It just does.”  murmured Ian, and with that he left the room with the air of someone who has just a little too much confidence.

Sighing in relief and irritation, Alissa went back to work, but something was bugging her.  Something in her brother’s tone just wasn’t right.  She pushed the thought back, but it sat there just on the edge, taunting her like some people might taunt a dog with a treat.  In the end, she just gave up and went out to the kitchen to make a snack.  Her ebony hair flowing out behind her she runs out to the kitchen, aiming to get there, get some food, and then get back to her room as quickly as possible without her brother seeing her.  As it turned out, she didn’t need to run.  The house was… quiet.  “How strange,” she whispered to herself.  She always talked to herself when she was scared.  It was a way of reassuring herself that if no one else was there for her, then at least she still was.  “Ian?  A-are you there?”  she stuttered.  Looking around her, she realised that the house wasn’t right.  It had a dark sort of air around it, like something wasn’t right.  “Ian?”  She called again.  No answer.  The house was as silent as a book, not speaking, or creaking, or making any noise at all that would have been considered normal.  It was too quiet.  Alissa suddenly understood what that meant.  It’s almost… supernaturally quiet.  She has no idea where that thought came from, but it terrified her.  It terrified her, because she knew that it was true.  Something was going on.  Something scary, and dark.  Something that no one could possibly predict.  “Ian?  Please come out.  I’m scared,”  she called.  Those last two words echoed through the walls of the silent house.  I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.  “I will not cry.  I won’t,” she convinced herself.  Then she heard a snapping noise, and turned around almost automatically. “Who are you?  What are you?  What’s going on?”  A figure stepped out of the shadows, menacing and dark, and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”  It was a rich, creamy sounding voice, like melted dark chocolate, and it made Alissa’s body shake with fear.  Just five words, and she was practically on the ground convulsing with terror.  He, for she was sure that was what it was, came closer, and Alissa gasped as she saw his face.  It was her brother, but not her brother.  He wore a dark, sinister smile, not unlike that of an insane criminal.  “I-Ian! Are y-you alright?”  She asked, fear and concern evident in her voice.  “Ian?  Oh you must mean the possessor of this body that I seem to have overtaken…  yeah he probably won’t be alright by the end of this.”  He laughs cruelly.  Alissa glanced around, frantically searching for something she could use as a weapon.  The fear had taken   over, and now it was acting for her, her body was just a puppet for the fear to use.  His laugh reverberated through every bone in her body, making her shake uncontrollably.  She couldn’t find a single item that even vaguely resembled a weapon in close proximity to her.  The only option she had left was to stall him.  “Wh-who are you?  What do you want with me?”  she demanded, scrambling to her feet as she tried to look brave.  It only made him laugh even harder.  “Who are you trying to impress?”  he asked, full of amusement.  “Tha-that’s not an answer!”  she said, trying to sound courageous, but failing due to her fearful stutter.  One eyebrow raised, the face that was once her brother’s twisted into an amused smile.  “Still clueless?  Let me give you a hint.  I come from a place of darkness and fires.”  Alissa frowns at him, disbelievingly.  “Wait, darkness and fires?  You mean h-Hell?  That would make you a-”  “A demon, yes.  how clever of you.  Took you long enough to figure out.  What do they teach you at school these days?”  His laid back demeanor confused Alissa.  He seemed so in control of everything, and he walks around like he owns the place.  “Wha-what do you w-want with me?”  Her voice shook with the weight of that new information.  It seemed to make this thing in front of her even more terrifying.  “What do I want with you?  Well, you could say there is a slight umm… price on your head.”  he laughed as he said that.  The creep finds it funny.  He finds this whole thing funny.  Alissa squinted her eyes closed as she desperately tried to keep her promise to herself and not cry.  “What exactly d-do you m-mean?”  She asked cautiously.  The demon smiles as he says, “I’ve already said too much.  Come with me.”  “Oh no.  There’s no way I’m ever going to follow you anywhere.  “How cute.  She thinks she has a choice,” he murmured to himself.  Alissa threw a pot of pens at him, and took that opportunity to run down the hallway, fumbling for the side door.  The demon recovered quickly, and before Alissa knew it, her legs had frozen to the spot, and were buckling beneath her.  As her now dead weight legs dragged her to the floor, she felt a bag being thrown over her head, and she suddenly can’t see a thing.

It is a long time before the bag is removed from her head, and she is finally able to breathe.  “Even a demon should at least have the decency to knock me out first if he knew the trip would take that long,” she muttered vehemently.  The demon with her brother’s face just ignored her, and prodded her forward.  Alissa refused to move.  “I won’t move any further if you won’t tell me anything.  At least tell me your name,” she said stubbornly.  The demon chuckled.  “Alright.  If you must know, and if it keeps you from whingeing, my name is Chronyx.”  “Chronyx?  That’s a strange name.”  Chronyx doesn’t reply.  He just prods her forward, and Alissa complies, seeing that she doesn’t have much choice.  Not another word is spoken until they reached a room, and Chronyx forced her inside of it.  It wasn’t an ordinary room, it didn’t have much in it, except for a crystal ball about the size of her living room, glowing a serene shade of blue.  It looked eerie, like a scene in a movie, and Alissa was already certain that she didn’t want to be trapped in a room with that thing.  “W-what’s that?”  she asked.  Chronyx smiled then said very seriously, “I was hoping maybe you’d be able to tell me.”  That’s when the memories hit her as hard as a wall of rocks and she collapsed for a second time, this time making her lose consciousness.

The memories came slowly at first; a bridge, over waters clear and blue, a smile, belonging to someone she almost remembered.  Then more vividly, she saw images of fire and demons and creatures more horrible than one could even begin to imagine.  Warm arms encircled her, and a familiar feeling of warmth and love flooded into her, only to be taken away again by a cold darkness.  Someone laughing cruelly, the crystal ball glowing red.  Then she heard her own voice, chanting softly, and the globe returned to it’s usual, serene colour.

Soothsayer.  That word played over and over again in her mind, and she remembered who she was, and what she was meant to do.  The word held the entire meaning of the world in it, and yet at the same time was as silent as a tomb.  She was meant to awaken the dead.  She was meant to lead the army into the ordinary world, and kill billions of innocent people.  She smiled at the thought of fresh blood.  “Alissa?”  whispered Chronyx, and she turned quickly to face him.  “That was her name.  I am no longer that girl.  I am Aschella, the Soothsayer, and I will bring our new world back.”  Chronyx smiled.  “Finally.”  The word seemed to echo off the silence between them.

Theraisa, Theraisa

Posted in Love Stories, Sad Stories, Stories, True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 24, 2013 by Myra's Circle

She stares out the window, hoping he’ll come.  Hoping he’ll come shouting, “Theraisa, Theraisa, are you still there?  Theraisa, Theraisa, with thy silver hair?”  just like he used to always do.  He would always jokingly use old words instead of the new, modernized terms.  He always likes old things, because he says they are what holds the most hope inside.  Hope, she decides, is still important for her.  They may think that her mind is damaged, that it is irreparable, but it isn’t.  Theraisa’s mind is fine.  There is nothing wrong with it.  The sisters in the convent always say that contact with one from outside was obviously the behavior of one who was mentally ill.  “But I’m not mentally ill, I’m not,” she whispers quietly to herself, wanting desperately to believe it.  But how could she when she had been told otherwise for her whole life?  He would come.  He’d have to come.  Right?  She closes her eyes, wishing someone would understand her, understand that she has feelings too.  She sighs and stares sadly out the window.  All of the other girls living there, and the sisters too, would sigh when they saw her there, sitting at the window day after day.  Then they would mutter, “Poor little Theraisa.  Something must be done for that girl.”  They had banned her from seeing him, and him from coming to find her, but she still had her dreams.  She dreamed that one day, he’d come, and he’d rescue her from this place.  It was a dreary place, always raining, and filled with gloom.  There was no future for Theraisa there.  She sits there for days sometimes, refusing to move, refusing all offers of food.  She stays there and hopes.  That’s when the head nun decided that it was enough.  “It isn’t healthy.  You shouldn’t be allowed near other girls.  They might start picking up some… unseemly habits.”  Theraisa knew what would happen.  She knew she was going someplace where no one would ever see her again.  Often, when a girl misbehaved, or was seen as mentally damaged, they would be taken to a room high up, a special room.  Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them back.  She didn’t want to display weakness in front of this woman.  She felt a single tear slide down her cheek as the nun led her up to the dark, scary attic.  It was a lot like she imagined: dark, lonely, with only a single window to lighten it.  “Here we are, it’s ok, you won’t be up here for long,” murmured the nun unconvincingly.  As she locked the door with a click behind her, Theraisa whispered, “Please don’t leave me alone.”  She weeps a little, into the uncomforting darkness, all hope has abandoned her now.  Then there was a movement, outside the window – was it- yes it was him!  She was sure of it.  She grabs a chair, the only furniture in the room, and stands up on it, to get a better look, but he had already disappeared.  As she started weeping again, she began to shake uncontrollably, and lost her balance.  The chair falls from beneath her, and she can hear a faint sound of shattering glass over the pounding of her heart.  Pain laces through her neck as the glass slits her throat, and blood gashes out, red and thick in the twilight.  Somehow, she manages to find her way to the door, and she scratches heavily on it.  No one answers.  No one cares.  The scratching is a usual thing.  “Help, help!” she feebly cries, but with too much force than her body can handle.  She coughs up blood, and in her last painful moments, she murmurs, “Cecil,” forcing her to cough up yet more blood.  Then she is shockingly still.

The head nun hears a faint dripping sound and turns.  She stares in horror at the sight of blood, pure and red, dripping through the ceiling.  She rushes up to the attic, and with shaking hands, unlocks the door.  She turns the handle and her eyes widen in shock and terror with the sight that confronts her.  Poor little Theraisa.  Poor little, sweet, mad Theraisa, lying in a pool of her own blood.  The sight is too much.  The nun can’t help but feel as if it is her fault.  “I was just trying to protect you,” she murmurs to the cold, limp body, as if it could still hear her.  The tears can’t help but flow, and the sister collapses on the ground in hysterical hiccups.

Decades later, a group of students pass by the old building and wonder about the death.  The place is now a school, and rumours are circulating about the mysterious ghost Theraisa.  The students all laugh and pass it off as a joke, all except for one.  As they are about to move on, that one student sees a movement in the window, the curtains being blown aside, and for a moment, the figure of a girl appears, still desperately trying to get a last glimpse of her lover.  And then she disappears.  The student tries to forget about that, but it keeps bothering her.  She cannot keep the thought of the girl out of her mind, or her haunting chant: “Theraisa, Theraisa, are you there?  Theraisa, Theraisa, with thy silver hair?”  

***This story is partly true.  It is based on the rumour of the Ghost of my Highschool.  Though the girl’s story is real, the ghost is still yet to be proven***

The girl who wasn’t there

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2013 by Myra's Circle

She watches when nobody’s home,
She sees all, with a sad little stare,
She cannot help but feel alone,
That girl who wasn’t there.

You don’t listen to her cries,
You don’t really care,
She turns her face towards the skies,
That girl who wasn’t there.

Her tears fall scarlet down her face,
It’s all too much to bear,
Stains her dress made of lace,
The poor girl who wasn’t there.

She isn’t there again today,
So don’t try to stare,
She is gone; she couldn’t stay,
That girl who wasn’t there.

Fear

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , on May 14, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Fear nibbles at my veins,
Stings my blood unlike nothing else,
Destroys my soul, and all it’s pains,
Hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt.

It courses through my heart and mind,
And never lets me escape to rest,
In strength and terror it does bind,
A final safe place would make me blessed.

But no more, the terror strengthens,
Tears threaten at my eyelids,
The time of which my pain is lengthened,
When my troubled times I hid.

Through fear it was that kept me sane,
Twas’ fear that made me keep in mind,
The feeling rushing through my veins,
Is a feeling to which I  am blind.

The Devil’s Song

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems, Songs with tags , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2013 by Myra's Circle

As they take my mind apart,
They suck the heavens from my soul,
For now, as when the dead depart,
I will take each as sold.

I am the stealer of the things so dear,
You cannot escape my deathly wrath,
And when all those you miss are here,
I’ll clear all from my path.

They think they take the life of all,
Possess all, no doubt,
A parlor trick, they will recall,
Is what keeps me about.

I miss the deathly pallor of,
The blood so stolen away,
And in this awful stench I love,
The darkness will keep this at bay.

The Chronicles of Aya and Azakiel Longsmith

Posted in Fantasy Stories, Stories with tags , , , , on March 29, 2013 by Myra's Circle

A scream is heard through the night, making cats yowl and dogs bark, leaving only an empty silence.  Blood-red tear drops form on the concrete floor, sparkling in the streetlights and causing more pain.  The night is what made this game.  Deep down, the girl knows that this is true, but she cannot help but blame herself.  “Your name!  What is your name?”  shouts a voice, breaking the heavy silence that had imposed on the world.  The girl scrabbles for her name, trying to remember before he punished her any more.  Her head pounds, like someone is beating a drum inside it.  The man grows impatient, his threats echoing off the stone walls.  “Aya,” she finally manages to push out of her lips in despair, “my name…  is Aya.”  The man snarls and puts his fingers around her throat, lifting her off the ground.  His expression was murderous, and Aya’s heart filled with terror at the sight of it.  She tried to scream for help, or at least for mercy, but as his fingers tighten around her throat, her words are choked off.  She cannot breathe, and before the end, she thinks one more thought.  Help me.  

The man screams out in agony as an invisible force starts to rip him apart, molecule by painful molecule.  His fingers release their grip on Aya’s throat, as he crumples to the ground.  There is no one to save him.  As his body slowly disappears from this world, his last screams are sucked in with it.  A figure steps out of the darkness, and towards Aya, but his intentions were not murderous.  His intentions were full of brotherly love for his sister.  Tears threaten his eyes as he sees her still body, unmoving.  He watches her limp body for a few more minutes, and exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding as her chest rises and falls, the colour returning to her lips.  Lucky I was here, he thinks, exuberantly.  If he hadn’t been here, Aya would be dead.

To her own amazement, Aya opens her eyes in her own room.  The only clues that last night wasn’t a dream are the scrapes on her arm. They are bandaged now, and her head is no longer pounding with frustration.  Her brother, Azakiel, wanders in, the relief plain on his face as he realises that she didn’t die overnight.  “Ever since we have discovered these powers we have, they have never really left us behind.  We need to find a better place to hide, or they’re going to eventually kill us.”  Aya nodded briefly, then smiled at her brother with affection. “Have you ever heard of the Dead Man’s Graveyard?”  Aya asks him.  Azakiel shakes his head.  “Precisely,” she murmurs darkly.  They were both going to go to a place where no one would ever find them again.

“Are we almost there?”  Asks Azakiel.  “Sadly, no,” Aya replies, genuinely annoyed at his frequent questioning.  He was acting like a bored five-year-old on a car trip and it was getting on her nerves.  They were climbing a particularly steep mountain, one that seemed higher than Everest itself.  Finally, they arrived at a clearing on top of the mountain.  It is dark and cold and reeks of terror and death, but nevertheless Aya stops and stands there, surveying the scene.  Azakiel stops too, and says, “Come on, lets move on.”  But Aya just stands there and shakes her head.  “We’re here,” she mutters.  She doesn’t sound too pleased with the location either.  “I thought you said we were no where near!”  cries Azakiel, who was clearly deterred by the evil feeling that surrounded the dark clearing.  It is as dark as night, although it was the middle of the day when they were climbing the last rock up the mountain.  Azakiel looked scared.  “You are such a wuss.”  Aya says, rolling her eyes.  “Where are we, anyway?”  Azakiel asks.  “Welcome to Dead Man’s Graveyard.”  Those whispered words echo off the thickness of the dark, until it seems like a thousand voices are whispering at once.  They know that they are not safe there, but it is obvious that they will never be safe anywhere.  No where is safe for a freak.  “Come on,” whispers Aya, “we need to find a place to make camp.”  Azakiel doesn’t seem to agree with that idea.  “Are you sure we should go in there?  It looks dangerous.”  Aya just shakes her head and replies, “Everywhere is dangerous for us, but this is our only option.  Only an idiot would dare to enter Dead Man’s Graveyard.”  “That makes me feel much better,” Azakiel mutters under his breath, ignoring the death stare that Aya shot him over her shoulder.

As they travel deeper into the increasing darkness, Azakiel begins to feel uneasy.  The only source of light that they have emanates from a small, electric, rechargeable torch.  Something isn’t right.  Something is very wrong, but Aya seems oblivious to that.  She just keeps walking, not even noticing Azakiel falling further and further behind.  Then Azakiel freezes, as cold as the ice in his veins.  A snapping sound reverberates through his head, making him scream out in agony.  “AYA!”  Aya turns and stares in horror as her older brother crumples to the ground in subdued pain.  “Azakiel… what happened?”  She asked, in a quiet voice, that was almost, but not quite, a whisper.  Azakiel doesn’t answer her.  He can’t.  “Azakiel!”  She cries, terrified of whatever force made her invincible brother crumple.  “Who’s there?”  demands a voice from the shadows.  Aya’s eyes widen in fear, but she stands up straight, trying to be brave, for her brother’s sake.  “Aya Longsmith,”  she says, confidently.   She could her the hesitation in that voice, an ever so slight shake surrounded by rock hard bravery.  “Why have you come here, Aya Longsmith?”  Aya draws in a deep breath, summoning up all her courage and says, “I have come to seek sanctuary from those who might want me dead.  This is the only safe place left for people like me.”  There is a pause, then Aya hears more voices around her out of the darkness, whispering.  They are doubtful and hopeful and scared and worried.  They are her own voices, the ones that once told her that she wasn’t good enough, but now they are real.  They are real voices, belonging to real, dangerous people.  Aya can only catch snippets of each conversation.  “… might be one of us,” “Is it safe… try…”  “She’s trouble!  We can’t deal with more…”  “ENOUGH!”  shouts the first voice, and all the conversations cease.  The circle of light around Aya is touched by many shadows, but Aya cannot see who those shadows belong to.  Someone steps out of the shadows, so terrifying that the very sight of him makes Aya want to shudder and collapse onto the ground.  Somehow, she manages to hold herself together for a few more minutes, at least until he introduced himself.  It is difficult to describe just how horrible a sight he is.  His charred bones are visible through his tattered skin, almost as old as time itself.  His body somehow holds itself together, but Aya could see where he was falling apart, where his skin rotted and his bones began to crumble.  He is bald, for all his hair must have fallen out long ago, and all that remains of his scalp is rotting bones.  His clothes and skin were both equally tattered, so Aya can’t tell what part is flesh and what is cloth.  She gasps in horror as she realises that the thing standing in front of her is the rotting corpse of the Dead Man.  “I am Consentius Churn, the One Who is Dead, and these are my people!”  he roared.  Aya almost has to put her hands over her ears to block out his echoing cry.  “If you don’t mind me asking,” she begins timidly, “What are your people?”  Consentius studies her for a bit, then says, “Mine are the ones who experience things that many others may not.  Mine are those who possess powers of the mind so strong that men fall at the sound of a thought.”  Aya thought for a long time, then said, “Then that means my brother and I are your people too.”  Consentius looks at her with renewed curiosity, but, “Prove it,” is all he says.  Aya nods, then looks around for something to focus on.  Her eyes settle on a boulder, bigger than any she had ever seen.  Aya closes her eyes and visualizes that boulder, concentrating as hard as she possibly can.  She imagines the boulder floating up into the air, and then hurtling towards a wall, smashing upon the impact.  She scrunches her eyes and thinks a single word, injecting it with all the power of her body.  Go!  She begins to feel dizzy, and far away from the world.  Through the broken silence of her mind, she hears the sound of granite exploding.  It sounds so distant, like it is a million miles away, but in truth Aya knows that the sound is real, and merely metres away.  By that time, however, she had already collapsed.  Her mind slips away from her, but somehow, she knows that she would be okay.

Aya awakens in a patch of light in a darkened room.  She can’t see much, but through the shadows she sees her brother’s limp body in another patch of light.  She looks below herself, and is astonished to see that she is suspended in the air.  She had a hunch that if someone turned off the light above her, she would fall to the ground.  She isn’t surprised to discover that she cannot move.  It almost feels like she is a bug stuck in a spider’s web, preparing for the worst.  Somewhere in the darkness, a door opens, then clicks closed.  She is ready for the end.  She closes her eyes, braces her head and waits for the last strike.  It doesn’t happen.  “It’s okay,” comes an unfamiliar, raspy voice, “You passed out after you shattered that boulder.  You are in a regeneration facility, underground.”  Aya breathes a relieved sigh.  “Is it safe here?”  she asks, desperate to know.  “Shhh.  Nowhere is safe for you, child.”  Aya opens her eyes, getting the answer she needed.  She sees the woman with the raspy voice and just stares for a long time.  She is beautiful, with long, rusty-blond hair flowing past her waist.  Her face is heart-shaped and beautifully tanned, but the prettiest part of her face is her eyes.  They are sea green, giving all the colourful illusion that the sea does.  If you stare at them long enough, they become a sort of sparkling blue, but if you look away quickly, they are a twinkling green.  “What is going on?”  Aya wants to know.  “There is going to be a war,” says the pretty lady, “and you are going to be in the front line.”  “War?  What are you talking about?”  The woman sighs.  “I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story.  My name is Zana, and I am just like you and your brother.  We know what happened with the Mistake and the scientists involved.  We know that there are millions of those scientists worldwide and they want to destroy all evidence of their  Mistake, including those who were results of it.”  Zana pauses,  and Aya takes that chance to butt in.  “What is the Mistake?”  Zana exhales, and says, “So you want to go back that far.  The Mistake happened years ago, when a certain group of scientists called Melovent started experimenting on children.  They were prepared to take any risk, prepared to kill hundreds of children for their project.  They justified this by saying that it was ‘all in the name of science’.  They wanted to see if they could improve the human brain, so that it had an almost animal sensibility.  Needless to say, the experiment went horribly wrong, and the children ended up with incredible powers of the mind, such as levitation, telepathy, and in rare cases, empathy.”  “What is empathy?”  Zana chooses her words carefully.  “Empathy is when a person has the ability to literally feel what other people feel.  People who are empathetic can also soothe others’ minds, and make them feel better.  We haven’t seen any Soothers in a hundred years, so it is incredibly rare to have the power of empathy.”  Aya looks over at her brother, who is still unconscious, in wonder.  “Azakiel?”  she whispered, shocked, and awestruck.  Her brother, possibly the only Empathy left.  He might be the most important one out of them all.  Zana looks confused.  “What?”  Aya looks back to her, and said softly, “Azakiel has empathy.”  Zana’s eyes widen and she just stares at Azakiel for a long time.  “He hasn’t woken up yet.  We are beginning to wonder if he ever will,” she murmurs regretfully.  Aya’s eyes fill with tears.  “No… please!  There must be something you can do to save him!”  she screams.  Azakiel stirs, and murmurs something in his unconscious state, and the tears of despair in Aya’s eyes turn into tears of hope.  “Please, please, please, please.”  Aya whispers to herself.  She can’t ever imagine not having Azakiel there; the thought is unthinkable.  Her brother, who she has known forever, her brother who has bandaged her scraped knees, protected her from danger, sang her to sleep every night, since she was little, dead.  Aya’s eyes widen in sadness and horror.  “NO.  He can’t die.  Please.”  she says, her voice getting more and more feeble as the hopelessness sets in.

Bleed through

Posted in Sad Stories, Stories with tags , , , , , , on March 2, 2013 by Myra's Circle

This sadness I feel, obliterating all else, what is it?  I do not know, and I fear I may never know, forever condemned to searching for answers to this indescribable sadness.  It is hard to believe that a human emotion could possibly be so strong, so prominent.  But I know that there are stronger emotions than this, like despair and hopelessness.  This sadness is not enough.  It is never enough.  Perhaps that is the reason why it is so strong, because it will never truly be enough to sustain one.  I shiver, thinking about the cold sadness and hatred that has consumed me, eating away at me, leaving me with no conceivable way to escape.  I cannot escape from that which is not enough… cannot escape from the inevitable future of my existence.  I am a sorry excuse for life and every day I hate myself because I know that.  I only have to withstand a few more years.  The rest I can bleed through.