Murder

These knotted old trees tremble and quake with the hellish hum of a murder. Beady black eyes watch me with stares so palpable, that I know only Death could be that prickling cold in the air. A bone deep ache that arrests me with that most terrible of fears only mortals know. He claws his way stealthily down my throat to harvest my anguished soul. He withdraws from my husk of flesh, like a wisp of smoke, before dragging me down to that dark place I always knew I belonged.

Β© J.G.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s