Shadow Creatures (F-short story, A-teen, T-horror)

You rush through the darkness, paying no heed to the things around you. You can understand that trees whip past on either side of you and that the pounding of your feet is on paved ground, but other than that, panic has taken over. 

A red alert screams through your mind, silent on the outside but setting off warnings every step you take on the inside.

Something warm and stinging drips into your eyes, and you wipe it away quickly, picking up your pace as you run. You can hear it behind you, calling; calling out your name. Nothing more than a dark shadow darting around the trees, catching up with you even though you started running a good half hour before it did.

You just can't seem to break through the thick vegetation, and a vine or two catch your feet. Eventually, you tumble to the ground--your foot caught by a protruding root. The shadow thing behind you makes euphony to others of its kind. Although it is a sound that makes you want to run towards it instead of away from it, you've heard it far to many times for it to have any affect on you.

Tearing and ripping with your bloody nails, you finally get your foot uncaught and take off running again. A stitch has built up in your side--so much so that it hurt to take even the smallest of breaths. 

Eventually, you run to a stop and double over in pain. You can hear the whispers of the beings around you, surrounding you, suffocating you, destroying you; and your eyes become wide with fright. It has suddenly become much darker and you whimper where you stand, too afraid to look up. You know that if you looked up, you would have probably died from fright.

"Elizabeth." the thing says, in its hoarse and whispery voice. Your name seems to echo around you, but you know it is the others of the things kind that are whispering it in the exact same tone and voice. 

Your stomach heaves as they draw closer, making you retch into the rotting leaves at your feet. They only draw nearer, feeding on your pain and fear.

You let out a colorful stream of curses that would make a sailor blush.

But they only laugh, throaty and disgusting. 

"You can never escape Elizabeth. We'll have you forever." they all whisper at the same time, making you feel like you were listening to a horror movie with surround sound.

"Get away from me." you say, courage coming to you in a strange burst hidden somewhere in the back of your mind. 

They only close their ranks, inching closer and closer.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" you shout suddenly, coming out swinging. Your hand and arm pass right through them, but your courage and strike surprise them enough that they can break away.

"You will never escape Elizabeth." they say, their voices fading into the darkness as the illumination of a street lamp comes into your view.

A sigh of relief rips through your body and you feel almost as if you want to break down and cry as you run past the lit up houses, running towards yours. But you keep it in, never looking back.

For now you are safe.    

Rainy Days

The fog rolled over the coast line to the little village. Everything was quiet as it snaked between the houses and slipped through wooden cracks into the living room of every house.

There was a creak in the floor and the fog scattered then settled again as a small figure pattered down the stairs to stand quietly near the large window that dominated the front of her house. 

She stood there, her face pale white with large black eyes and waited. 

Soon, every window in the village was occupied by some kind of little figure, and even the older brothers and sisters of some were holding a baby with them. 

Again, everything was silent until. . . 

The sound of a rickety old cart made it's way down the cobblestone street. The old woman who was pulling it and the cart itself was not there when the fog rolled in, nor were they anywhere near it. Only the children could see this old woman and her cart who rolled in with the fog. 

Finally, when the woman was in the town square did she stop. 

Every child moved from their homes to witness what she brought and who she would take. 

Those who were wise enough for their seven or eight years stayed away; moved to the back of the crowd and watched with a careful eye to make sure none that were too small or too weak where thrown into the carriage and wheeled away. 

Only a couple of small ones stepped forward to offer the witch a trinket or toy and in exchange, she would take both the child and the toy and throw them into her carriage.

And when the exchanges were made and the witch was satisfied, she gave a great bellowing yell and the crowd parted around her and watched her disappear into the fog. 

The fog receeded with the witch, enveloping her in a cloud of white. 

If you had blinked, you would have missed the departure of the witch. 

And those that were taken were never again seen.

Thus is the tale of Runaway Isle.

Coincidence

What is coincidence? Is it the fact that you're friend calls you just before you're about to call them? Or

is it the fact that you're thinking of something and then all of the sudden, it happens?

It's a hard thing to fathom. Hard to think of because so many people are diverse in their though process

and how they say things. No one thinks exactly the same, no matter how much that it appears that it does. 

So, are these things coincidence's, or is it some greater power? Some other force that is causing these 

things to happen for a greater purpose? Perhaps. Many people want to believe that because of the comfort

it brings. To think that this is part of a great plan that whatever creator there is has set. It is believable, 

because what do we known if their is a greater force?

I believe that some things are coincidence, and some things are due to a greater force. Coincidence is

only when you're father calls you down for dinner, just as you were about to go down yourself. Or when your

friend calls you just as you are about to call them.

A greater force is when you're good friend is killed in an accident, but it turns out that he was a serial 

killer who hunted down children at night and buried them in his backyard. Not saying that that is true, but

trying to give some kind of example on how a greater force could work. 

And then there are times when nothing just doesn't make sense. Like when a pet is hit by a car, or 

someone you know ends up getting terminal cancer in what would be their peak of life. Or if you're sister 

is raped. 

I couldn't say from experience. Not many things have happened to me that are coincidental. Most of

the time its something like a friend calling me just as I'm about to call them. It might be why I don't notice

it most often. But I know it's there. I don't think "seeing is believing" is a proper statement. You just have

to believe it with all your heart.

That's was makes many things right.

Avarice, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. There's actually a series of pictures like this; if you type in Seven Deadly Sins under images on any search engine, you will find the series.

Sins included Avarice(Pride), Envy, Lust, Gluttony(Hunger), Wrath, Vanity, and Sloth. 

TXTING

It's hard to imagine that once we were speaking in Shakespearean terms with each other; with our families, friends, and colleagues. Now a days we get by by sometimes not even saying a word at all a day, just texting or e-mailing. The language has been lost to make way for easier ways of saying things because we humans are lazy things. Isn't it easier to say one thing instead of three to get your meaning across? Of course it is. It's just how things are. 

Now, it's not much different that texting is making way for the new millennium. It's not necessarily destroying our language in the first place, because I have heard on many occasions people using bigger words than they had ever thought to ever existed in their vocabulary, but then again, I have heard people use "lol" or "rofl" or "ttyl" in conversations with normal people. Texting hides who you are. You can't tell when someone doesn't like your choice in words or if they don't want to speak with you at all. Its almost like living behind a mask. Without facial expression, you can't tell if the person's serious or sarcastic. Annoyed or being funny. It's a deterrent to a conversation you're having with someone. On one occasion, two people I had known had gotten into fights with each other because they couldn't determine if the person was messing with them or not. 

Then again, texting is convenient. You can speak with your friends or parents about something that popped up during the school day, or even during the working day. Instead of going through the whole procedure of talking to the person on the phone and risking someone overhearing your conversation, you can text them instead. No one can really know what you're talking about and most times private conversations are meant to be kept just that. Private. It can be used to have short, quick conversations with people and does not really need a phone call. Like if you're discussing someplace to meet, you can ask "Meeting @ park?" and the person whom you are addressing can respond with a "Yeah". Things like that, in my opinion, do not need to be graced with the procedure of a phone call. 

Some may argue that texting had ruined our culture. Others can say that texting has nourished it and revived it. Whether your opinion may be for or against texting, it will become a part of life. It already has become a part of life. And you can choose whether or not you want to use it. But it will always be there, ready for your fingers and minds to use and latch onto   

Rooms

I think rooms show our personality better than anything. If you really take a look at a room, I bet you'd be able to tell what the person likes, what they hate, and their interests. 

My sister's rooms are almost identical, with my littlest sister trying her best to decorate what she can under mom's supervision. A dog poster there from my inhabitant in the room is the most she can get away with.

My other sister. . . . well, let's just say she's a usual pre-teen with the pictures of Zac Efron, the Jonas Brothers, and Miley Cyrus on her walls. It almost makes my eyes burn to walk into her room and see all the fake smiles and gel-styled hair. Make up that she doesn't use strewn on her counter, like she actually uses it. More like a prop put there on purpose to explain. She likes to pretend. 

My parent's don't seem to have a taste at all. The carbon copy from a home make over magazine with the perfectly made bed, and the throw pillows just right. The big expansive walk in closet and the large bathroom and glass shower. Not that it's not beautiful just. . . . . predictable. There's no real taste in the decoration, just something to look at. 

In my room, well, if you knew me, you could laugh and say it looks just like a room I would have. The large 6 foot bookcase pushed up against the wall that connects my bathroom and closet. 108 books so far. Pretty impressive, huh?

The various pictures from my childhood that my mother insists on keeping up to 'remind me of my past'. Though the fairy pictures are fairly recent. I think I'll keep them. 

Then my bureau with the large mirror that covers half-my wall and the little lights that decorate the outer rim of it. They were made by myself on Halloween watching 13 Night's Of Halloween on ABC Family from 3 years ago. It was a distinct memory in my mind. 

Then the file cabinet and my desk. My desk holds a non-working computer, while my file cabinet holds all the works I've created, more reliable than a computer. Scattered here and there with random scraps of paper, wires, cups, pens. My mother likes to call it a mess; I like to call it eclectic. And no matter how many times I tell her, she continues to try and clean my room, resulting in a minor heart attack on my part when I can't find anything. She calls my stuff 'junk'. I call it brilliant works of art. She likes to call it 'dirty'. i call it saving everything. She likes to call it 'useless'. I don't really think she knows what all my 'useless, dirty, junk' means to me. It's my personality. And if she likes to portray a woman who never makes mistakes and is perfect, good for her. 

I prefer to be a unique spaz.