ok,so,im new,and kinda bad with computers.how exactly do i enter?

The Art of Blood and Silver
Username: shadowfoot
Word count: 400
Entry:Mike checked the corridor for the fifth time that night. He could have sworn that he had heard something. He had to laugh at himself. Big bad Mike. Tough as nails. Night watchman at an abandoned asylum. He just need to check once every hour at a random time—keep the local teens from fooling around there, keep transients from sleeping in the building. There were parts that were dangerous—damaged by fire. Despite warning signs, young hotbloods felt the need to prove their courage…prove how tough they were. Mike could laugh at the irony of the situation. There he was preventing other people from doing what he did all the time.
Mike spun around. There it was again. A keening sound, high in pitch. It was coming from the older section. He headed toward the ruined part of the building, cautiously checking the floor. Tough he may be, indestructible he was not. He had no desire to go through the floor. Mike began to slow. The closer he got to the sound, the more certain he was that he was hearing a human voice. He scowled. Stupid kids. Probably some teens thinking they could “commune with the spirits” or some such rot. Well, he’d show them. Scare them a bit. He began to sneak up on the old cell where he was certain they were. This one was particularly popular because of its history. A girl had died there in the fire of smoke inhalation. She hadn’t even tried to escape. They found her sitting in her chair by the window, silver brush in her hand, her auburn hair spread over her shoulders. One wall of her cell had scorch marks. The rumor was that she had been a murderer. Just lost it and put a pair of scissors through her father’s throat. No apparent reason. Simply said she liked the look of red on silver. Nearing the cell, Mike prepared to jump out and scare some sense into the trespasser, who he could hear singing. He sprang out roaring, got a glimpse of auburn, and then darkness.
A figure stood over the body, flaming hair flowing down. The eyes were vacant and the body emaciated, but the hair shone brilliantly. She leaned down closer to examine her work.
“So pretty.”
Mike Viands, 37, recently divorced, was found in cell 217. A silver brush was embedded in his skull.

Nightmares

username:Gemini
word count:roughly 287
entry:Blindly,she ran.it was chasing her,had been for so long.She no longer knew where she was,or where she was running,only that if it caught her,she was dead.The feral red eyes and gaping mouth of the creature were right behind her,closer,closer it came.Suddenly,its jaws caught on her leg,bringing her down hard.She screamed as it tore into her flesh,blood everywhere,the sound of gutteral laughter filled the air.The last thing she saw was those eyes-those horrible eyes...
"Raven! Raven wake up" she woke to the sound of her mother's voice,calling her for dinner.Raven worked nights at the hospital,and had been having the same dream for weeks.It had gotten her this time.Whatever "it" was.She showered and dressed,getting ready for work.As she left,her mother called goodbye to her."Strange."she thought."mother never says 'goodbye' she always says 'love you,see you in the morning'.huh.she must have been distracted." Meanwhile,back at her house,her"mother" transformed back into the creature of nightmare.Little did Raven know,her mother had been caught the day before,as she slept.It laughed,low and rough,and headed out to meet raven on the pathway in the forest that she always took.Raven walked though the forest she had always called home,heading for work.She was unaware of the glowing red eyes and horrible bloodlust coming from the trees above her.The thing leapt,growling fiercely.Raven looked up,screamed-
Far away,her screams echoed as the creature finished its meal and moved on,looking for new prey.

*that was entry #1.Hope you liked!*

---

Unstable

username:Gemini
word count:358
entry:She lay in her bed,small and weak,sleeping fitfully.She was only seven,and had been sick most of her life.Her parents had called doctors,psychiatrists,preists,even parapsychologists,but no one seemed to know what was wrong.She woke up."mommy?" she called.Her mother was downstairs,making a sandwich for her."Mommy? i feel strange..."her mother walked in,carrying a plate with a sandwich for the little girl."Honey,i have your lunch-oh my! what are you doing out of bed?" The girl had not walked in over a year.She turned around,a pair of scissors in her hand.Her eyes were empty,blank,like there was nothing left inside of her,causing her mother to worry."Dear,put those down,you'll hurt youself" "No.i want to use them..." She walked towords her mother,raising the scissors,and then brought them down into her mother's heart.The mother's eyes widened as the girl continued to stab her,over and over,covering herself in blood.She then proceeded downstairs to where her father was just returning from work.He looked at his daughter,horrified at the sight of blood all over her small body."what happened?" He asked."Mommy's dead." The girl stated.The man ran upstairs to find his wife brutally stabbed on the floor.He turned around to ask his daughter what had happened,and saw her standing there,holding a knife from the kitchen."Goodbye daddy!" She giggled,and stabbed him repeatedly.A box of matches fell out of his pocket,and she picked them up.Losing interest,she threw them away,not noticing the spark they made.She fell to her knees,screaming.When she looked up,she saw her parents dead on the floor."Mommy? daddy? wake up! mommy!! daddy!!!" A memory came back to her-a doctor,telling her parents that she had a mental condition."Shes unstable" he said."You should be carefull,her mind could go at any time."Then she knew.Her parents weren't waking up,and it was her fault.She sat there in the pooling blood of her beloved mother and father,crying and wishing for death as the flamed engulfed them all.
HEADLINE
Family found dead in the burned ashes of thier suburban home this morning,with no evidence of a struggle.Athourities say that the child,a seven-year-old girl,had been mentally unstable.Surprisingly,her body was found with a charred knife in its hand.Specialists on the case speculate murder,but it is still unclear as to exactly what happened...

and that was entry #2.sorry if its not very good,but its kind of late at night and im tired.^,..,^ anyway,hope you liked it!

sadley im not good at makin scary stories i can barly stand to watch childs play

Get ready for some seriously messed up shizz...
What is that behind you...?
Username:TunaFishSalad
Word count:260
Entry:
I keep at it; the steady rhythm helps me think, clearly, less scrambled and messily hurried. I glance down, looking at him with a critical eye.
This simple task at hand calms me down.
The pound pound pounding begins to synch in with the beat of the blood in my ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My headphones ring out static and a happy pinky tune.
It’s like any other normal household chore.
Really.
Like making beef mince pies.
He loves my pies.
I weep quietly, harshly, my throat is tired from the sobbing.
I’m trying to get over it.
I swear I am.
I am I am.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There are some stains on my skirt from my work with the kitchen knife from before.
But it’s ok.
The other noises have stopped.
No more of the yelling
The screaming.
The blaming and begging.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
No more lies.
No more false promises.
No more.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He was mine.
Always mine.
I am content now, the violence before nearly, barely, forgotten.
Behind tightly shut doors I continue, even if the chore is done.
I continue because it’s helping me think.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I am on his lap, we are close together
As it should be
As it should’ve always been.
Echoes of my mothers advice ring through my head
“Fight for your love darling, fight for it…”
Well, he can’t say ‘no’ anymore.
So I am content.



In my house, my love shall stay.
Even if I had to keep stabbing him to keep him here.


I have NO excuse for this... I'm not really this messed up I swears TWT

What is that behind you...?
Username: Lune` Selet
Word count: 286
Entry:
She ran as fast as she could up the winding and perilous trail, mouth agape, gasping for air. My mother told me not to go out to night! She heard a rustling in the brush and a howl from not too far behind. She whimpered and pushed her-self to run faster. My Franz will help me, she thought, he must. In the distance she could make out his house. A single candle was held in the window for her, to let her know it was safe. But on this night she did not care. She stumbled to beneath his window, but when she got there the rustling stopped abruptly and everything got deathly still. Her beloved opened his window and she told him of her deathly freight.
“Oh, my Sarilee, ‘twas your imagination, nothing more my pet.”
He hopped down from his window and they made their way down the path in to the forest. Sarilee almost felt safe in her lover’s arms when out from behind the trees huge wolves with glowing green eyes stalked on to the path. Suddenly he was gone. She was on the ground reaching out to him as he ran down the path. She felt the vague sensation of being of being drug and then pain. She let out a blood curdling scream. He left! He left! WHY?! Her vision went to red as she lay there writhing on the forest floor. Her flesh being torn off piece by piece by the blood thirsty beasts, then to black and she felt no more pain. Then she saw a bright light and she heard a voice say,
“Rise my child and have your fill of vengeance…”
And she smiled.

I tried my best at writing a horror short story but hey at least I had fun. ^__^

What is that behind you...?
Username: T-Rebback
Word count: 400
Entry: Untitled

Left to rot, the ancient and decaying estate of the Leineharts was said to be haunted due to the mysterious happenings within. Some say that Mozart’s Moonlight Sonatra could be heard during moonlit nights. Others say that shrilling screams could be heard. Whilst the rest claimed to have seen the golden lights of candles. Despite all accounts, there is one blinding contradiction.
The last of the Leineharts are gone.
Yet all these happenings are somehow occurring. And I, Forte Nonet, am going to find out.

The Leinehart’s estate intrigued me when I first started living in Oak Prairie. Oak Prarie was an isolated and quaint village, distances away from the major cities and towns. It is mainly known for being a place of archaic principles. When attending school, everyone always passed the building. Kids were told that the house belonged to a deranged and murderous Leinehart whom kidnapped and ate bad children who ventured there. Whilst everyone was fooled by the silly old housewife tales, I was intrigued. The air of mystery that oozed out of its pores entranced me. What tales lie behind those ancient walls?
It was a puzzle just screaming to be solved.

My friend, Ethade, was one of the few kids that I met during school. He was a male counterpart of myself, as both of us were intrigued by the mystery behind the stately manor. We decided to explore it together when the sun sets.
We came back with sickles and paralysis darts used to shoot hares, in case we encountered trouble. With gusto, we cut our way through the fields of barley. With each step, the buildings seemed to be groaning loudly as if in pain. Confronted by a door, with brandished sickles, I reached to grasp the knob.
The door opened.
We plunged into the dark innards of the Leinehart estate.

Surveying our surroundings, Ethade and I went to explore the west wing, admiring the various artworks displayed. Through the hallowed hallways of armored knights, the grand mahogany towered over us. Behind it, the faint but haunting Moonlight Sonatra could be heard. Hypnotized, Ethade pushed the doors open. In a trance, the music guided him into the center of the room.
Looking through, I felt my eyes widening in recognition. In the center was succabus, looking at Ethade with a predatory smile, slowing inching her way forward.
Ethade, glued to the spot, screamed.

What is that behind you...?
Username: Zilithandria Moonlight
Word count: 296 (that's including the title and counting all the words linked with a "-" as two words.)
Entry:

"Thirteenth Hell"

"How could I have known my boyfriend wasn't human?" She silently complained in the broken hallway of Gate Thirteen Academy, now destroyed and abandoned like the rest of the town. She hated being alone. Then she heard water dripping from behind, which instantly made her think of a damp cave caught in moonlight; she knew what it was, but by now she was too tired to be terrified. Hunchbacked, she turned, and wondered if this was the end for her. As her eyes made contact with the twisted form that had haunted her non-stop these last twelve hours and fifty-eight minutes, she simply realized that she no longer cared. The mummified creature's mouth opened and screeched a long, demented note, its pitch rising and falling as if it were a demonic melody. She figured she would be attacked differently this time a moment before cold metallic branches shot out from the walls like elongated fingers and captured her wrists, ankles and waist; she did not resist. The monster grinned as its clawed fingers reached forward; it rushed towards her - she turned her head and shut out the world - it howled again - the branches' grip tightened - tears pricked her eyes as she waited for a pain she didn't know but expected, and... nothing happened. The branches carefully released her as they withered, and she looked around. She could not see the beast anywhere. She laughed aloud, feeling overjoyed at her release from this madhouse nightmare, then hurried in search of the exit, when she that fatefully wicked howl returned. It was headed her way.

As the dormitory bells donged thirteen times, she understood that the game was not over.

That it would never be over.

Good luck to everyone that has entered

Ok so here's my second entry

What is that behind you...?
Username: IHateTests
Word count: 392
Entry: It was All Hallows Eve and my house was eerily quiet. Nobody was home. Since I was the oldest of the five children it was voted that I stay home and give out the sweets to any trick-or-treater that came by. It would have been my parents but they to had gone out. They had gone to costumer party that my fathers work hold every years. I would have gone out as well but this year my life has flipped upside down. I had gone from being a popular to not being popular all because of a stupid picture and some words that had been said because of it.

I heard sounds outside and thought it was some kids trick-or-treating. I grabbed the bowl that had the sweets in and headed over to the door but I remembered that I was in my not so scary PJ's with bunnies on. I quickly rushed up the stairs to change. However, before I opened my bedroom door I heard a sound in my parents bedroom. I slowly walked over to it. I got down and peeked under the crack in the door to see in. I saw a shadow inside moving.

After seeing the shadow in the room I was both scared and curious to see what had made it. I slowly opened the door, which creaked when I did. The room was dark and creepy. I was feeling around for the light switch when I felt a cold breeze in the room, the window was open.

I walked over to the window to close but as i did that it felt like someone was watching me. I wrote it off though as just my imagination playing tricks on me. Suddenly I felt something push me out of the window. I felt like was falling and flying at the same time.

My body hit the ground with a thud. That was when I woke up.

I took a few deep breathes as I looked around the room. While I was looking I spotted the door to my balcony was open a little. I got out of bed to close it. There was a huge gust of wind that pushed the doors wide open and swept me off my feet and over the balcony railing. This time I did not wake.

I just wanted to stop by and see the entries, and might I add they are all amazing! The 400 word limit is the hardest part, and good luck everyone! The different styles are obvious here, and the reads are fun and chilling. It was good to see such a great turnout for a writing contest! I get excited when I see people write...^^;

This is Entry #2 for me. Enjoy.



What is that behind you...?
Username: Moxie
Word count: wordcounttool.com = 397, Microsoft Word = 385
Entry:
The clock read three.

The lights flashed on the clock, taunting. Three a.m. is the real witching hour- the time when the most people are born and the most people die.

Time had stopped at 3am. Time and breath and sound and hope had all died at the witching hour. The wind didn't even bother to howl outside. Even the beating of my own heart was dulled. I wish it would pound in my ears, but it denied me.

The world itself was dead- murdered by the witching hour.

I stayed in my bed as if it was somehow a sanctuary and the blankets a shield- keeping me safe from the things that watched me. Each one stood silently, biding its time in the shadows. The small pin prick dots that were their eyes stabbed me. I closed my eyes in hopes that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.

But I knew they could.

And they knew I had seen.

My eyes would not stay shut against them.

They were closer now.

Not much closer, maybe a step or two. Moving silently. The air was too heavy for sound. I blinked, inhaling a flat breath.

They were again closer. The dark creatures moved when I could not see. Each flutter of my eyes brought them nearer. I struggled to keep my eyes open- but they stung and I blinked again.

Almost imperceptibly- the hurtful, needful things came closer.

My bed was not a sanctuary. My blankets were not a shield.

'Don't blink. Don't blink. Don't close your eyes.' I told myself, unable to speak. Words dissolved in my mouth like cotton candy so sweet it has no choice but to melt upon your tongue. I could feel sleep wrapping its claws around me. Adrenaline gone now, used up and fetid in my veins. My eyes closed. I forced them open.

Closer. Closer. Closer still.

'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…' I didn't know the rest. It didn't matter. They were immune. Prayer means nothing in the witching hour.

The clock taunted me- still reading exactly three. Each flash of the clock an act of torture- each blink of the light enticing me to blink myself.

'Don't close your eyes.'

But, some things are inevitable.

The clock still reads three.

Blimey...All of these are really good! Good luck to everyone ^^

Cant I copy and paste a scary story that i wrote for a class from my email?

Thank you very much for all your entries! So many of them and they are such enjoyable reads too. ^^

@BitterBlue:
Poems are perfectly fine. You are not the only one submitting an entry in that form, so it's not a problem. ~_^

@Gemini:
I've fixed the form a little for you, but otherwise, thank you for your submissions!
Also, be careful of double posting (posting more than once in a row), as they are not allowed here according to Menewsha's rules. I have merged them for you for now. :yes:

@KH4Life:
So long as it is you and no one else who wrote it, feel free to submit our story. ;D

Ooh..*goes back to read all the entries*

Good luck to you all! *O* <333

What is that behind you...?
Username: Kemii
Word count: 140
Entry:
Fear
fear; isn't the Face in tatters of Blood,
isn't the serrated gleaming Knife;
nor the sharp devouring Fangs.
is the scream that comes from silence,
the footsteps in the Shadows;
the Watchers in the Dark.

Not the gruesome details, explicit
in pain and horror and blood
almost comical in presentation.
but we fear the Unknown; we fear Fear.

we fear what is behind us,
not what is ahead.
we fight off the ghouls and beasts,
but tremble at the wind's light touch.
Our eyes are our Friend,
our ears our Enemies.

fear follows you more closely than
any enemy or any friend
clinging tightly to your skin
not shaken off, attached
always whispering in your ear
taking control of your mind
controlling you.

the knife plunges,
the fangs pierce,
the watcher laughs,
the ghouls howl,
the wind screams,
Fear wins.


I hope the capitalization and phrasing doesn't count as bad grammar, its done on purpose to emphasise words and stuff. >_< Is it okay?


What is that behind you...?
Username: Kemii
Word count: 269
Entry:
Danse Macabre
Discordant notes jarred and screamed, floating and lingering in the midnight air. Death's anthem rung out loudly and the procession began. Death stood alone, a skeleton bleached yellow with age. Whirling and twirling to his song, his bones clicked almost rhythmically. As he wove his way through the empty town, he called to those dying and about to die. An aristocrat is the first to answer, rich garments of silk and thick gold rings rotting and tarnishing as he began to dance. Soon, he too was a bare skeleton, grinning on the path to the underworld. A beggar girl is next, her rags decaying, her eyes rolled back in her head. A princess, a mercenary, a whore, a baby; Death spared none, but took from all walks of life. He did not pause, or even gaze behind him. Death simply danced, almost carelessly, wildly, with perhaps a bit of menace and insanity. The phantoms grinned, in their last taste of wild, carefree life; clickity-clack, clickity-clack, as they twisted and turned and twirled. Some others hear the paean in their sleep, and stir uneasily in a nightmare. Some even lie awake; trembling with fear, hoping it is not yet their time. Death marks them all, and notes when to return to harvest his rightful due.

They dance till morning, not pausing, not stopping, and not resting even once. But when the first light of dawn touches the sky, the wraiths fade away from the world, going to their final resting place in Death’s great hall. And then Death dances again, calling yet more to his service, grinning and spinning evermore.

Wow, really good kemii! I loved the poem, and the story was actually chilling XD Then again, I fully admit I scare easily XD

Aww, thank you Remaro. >_< I scare quite easily too, scary movies freak me out especially xD But for some reason literature doesn't quite have the same effect on me o_O haha.

Originally Posted by Gemini

ok,so,im new,and kinda bad with computers.how exactly do i enter?

Welcome to Menewsha hehe! Well I guess you write your poem or story and then you can post it here in this thread with the form Iro has in the third post. ^^ I hope that answers your question >_<

Same, though when it comes to spoken literature, I get freaked out easily! Me and my friends were on holiday with our families and we all spent the night at one of the homes we'd all rented. We'd turned off the lights and had a torch and everything. One of them has a really good acting voice, he was telling this creepy story and God it was freaky! Especially when dad decided to help out by making scratching noises on the door, then slamming in at the points my friend was saying it happened in the story XD

What is that behind you...?
Username: Elmira Swift
Word count: 393
Entry:
Beau sat back in the back of the taxi, keeping a wary eye on the setting sun. Why did I linger for so long at the Historic Society meeting tonight? Can I make it through the door in time again today? He silently but repeatedly asked himself. 22 years ago, the town decided to turn the old plantation into a historic site, with the stipulation that Beau would remain as a tenant caretaker. Long ago, the plantation drove the economy of the small town. Now? Well, times were tough everywhere. Beau spent the better part of his days persuading council members to continue to support the old plantation.

Time seemed to shift around him as he caught glimpses of the past.
Familiar odors and sounds assaulted him the closer the car came to the old plantation. He thought he could see Mrs. Petite strolling along the long driveway, as she did daily until she died 63 years ago, and rubbed his eyes. It’s too soon, isn’t it?

“I must get to the door.” He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror and gasped. Fine lines began to appear on his face, his hairline receding noticeably. “How many years have I danced this dance?” A cold chill went through his body as he heard sounds from his past: machines turning in the fields, farm hands and slaves whose songs he hadn’t heard in over a century.

He recalled the promise he made so long ago, “As long as you walk through the doors of our home, you will live.” As the sun moved ever closer to the horizon, Beau began to see more and more familiar faces. His mother, his wives, friends, cousins – all long dead – now shadowy figures approaching the house ahead of him. “I still have so much to do here. If I’m gone, who’ll take care of our home? There is no one left.”

Finally, the car pulled to the front of the house, the sun already crested the horizon. As Beau made his slow approach to the front door, grasping the silver doorknob, he saw himself reflected in the window. A husk. Crippled, bent, barely alive. For 263 years he kept his word. He heard his son’s voice call out to him, “Father, it’s time.” A cloaked figure touched his shoulder as Beau silently crumbled to dust.

This seems like my kind of contest. I think I'll write an exerpt from a story I wrote in 4th grade called Cat of the Midnight Horror...a story that was inspired by a project my older sister had to complete in 6th grade. I lost it long ago...but I remember the most horrifying scene like the back of my hands...I'LL GET WRITING. 400 words sounds like a tough limit.

This is my second entry, which is a separate story to the first but they can be connected.
What is that behind you...?
Username:TunaFishSalad
Word count:328
Entry:
She is a monster.
I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her…
It is like a mantra, a prayer. In my head these words repeat again, and again, and again. It anchors me, stopping my mind from sinking down into the abyss of despair and pathetic fallacies. How I hate her. She looks like me too. The same light brown eyes, “dreamer’s eyes,” my mother once said, “romantic, kind...” But she ruins them, the magic of inheriting a beautiful mother’s genes discolored by the fact that she too, inherited them. She has freckles too, but they seem darker, more ominous on her face, like splotches of dried blood. If only my mother never birthed us, then at least the world would be free of her, never mind me, no, don’t ever mind me.
She is a monster.
I could only stand by and watch her do it, in a far corner of my mind, like if that distance could protect me. Even as she whispered in my ears that it was my fault, all my fault, I couldn’t raise a hand to end it. I felt only submission and weakness. Am I pathetic? Despicable in that I failed to stop her murderous rampage? Am I really just as bad as she is? And is it my fault, mine, seeing as I stole him away?
Is it my fault he is dead?
Don’t forget, maniacale me
Don’t forget,
What is yours is really mine.
No, no, I hate her. I hate her I hate
Don’t forget I’m right here.
Her, I hate her, get out, get out, leave me alone-
My hand finally raises, too little, too late, and the mirror smashes.
I stare unblinkingly at the shards of glass sticking in my knuckles, the disgustingly steady trickle of blood. Reminding me of the blood on it before.
Don’t forget,
Don’t forget,
Don't ever forget
No. No I won’t.
What is her is really me.


Note: "maniacale" is italian for 'delusional'

All of these entries are fantastic! I wish everybody the best of luck, truly! Since my submission for the contest, I have stumbled over a fresh creative streak I haven't felt for a long time. I have produced about ten new poems in less than a few days, and I'm STILL writing. This competition has stirred and spurred some of my best work in years! This contest is EXACTLY what I've been needing to refresh myself again, and I encourage more events like this for the future. Thank you!

What is that behind you...?
Username: Neller
Word count: 398 (title included)
Entry:

Feline of the Midnight Horror

My mother and I were both thoroughly amazed when my cat-hating sister walked into the kitchen cradling the most hideous creature ever seen by man’s eye. The thing looked as if it was torn into shreds and sewn back together, again. A humpty-dumpty that had gone horribly wrong.

My sister insisted on keeping the beast and my mother reluctantly complied.

The wind howled outside my crooked window that night. The draft from the obsolete frame rendered me under four layers of quilts. The old house moaned in the horrendous tempest.
The clangor of my mother’s old grandfather clock reverberated down my home’s old wooden halls, ensuring I was awake to know it was twelve o’clock a.m. I cursed the ancient apparatus under my breath and wrenched my eyes shut. Trying to concentrate on slumber, I counted the imaginary sheep in my mind. One...two...three- number four came with a shrilling cry. It woke me with a start. Only a minute had passed since the old clock down the hallway had chimed. The cry broke through the sound of the howling wind and moaning house, again. It drew me from my bed.
Wrapping my house coat around my shoulders, I slipped out my bedroom door. Silently tip-toeing across the hard wood floor, I made my way to the door of the room beside mine, my sister’s room. Her door was cracked the slightest, so I attempted to peer in and only saw ebony air. I tried focusing more to see through the darkness when I heard something small fall and roll from inside. My ears tried to discern the sound when I gazed down at my feet. From behind the ajar door rolled a small white sphere. My brows furrowed as I bent to observe the object. My heart sunk as I realized what the sphere was. Slamming my sister’s door open and prompting the light, I shriek at the sight of my sister’s bloody corpse laying on her bed. The greater half of her face had been torn away, as if the great claw of a grizzly bear had swiped her. In a horror stricken gaze, my eyes fell to the center of the room where the cat cleaned the gore from it’s paws. It’s bright scarlet eyes bore back at me, and as I turned to run, the beast lunged at my life.

A tragic bird sits on a garden wall watching young lovers confess their mutual love. The young student seeks his loves hand. Only to find her timid. He moves onto his tattered knee and looks into doubtful grey eyes, "Will you marry me?"

The young lady looks to the sky, "if only I had a sign that this union would be favorable. A ray of sun, a bird's song?"

Yet the bird was silent for it was unable to sing.

The young lady waited and left in tears. The young student drowns himself in sorrow and still the bird is quiet.

The bird sits on the garden wall and a young woman comes to the garden with her giggling sweet baby. Sitting on a blanket the chubby legged cherub coos with glee as her mother goes to pick a peach. A deadly snake creeps toward the baby. And still the bird does not speak while death follows.

I walk into a garden and see a bird dying. It flutters on the ground repeating every sound it heard in life. Quiet in life, loud now in death. A voice silent for years. Before I relive my childs death I crush its thrumming heart.