Her Last Day
The House of Tiny Monsters
You know that story of the forgotten house? Every city has one.
They say it's nearly a hundred years old —and I believe them.
We walk past it's boarded windows and decrepit overgrown fence, curious to catch a glimpse of what lies inside; counting the slivers of paint that curl down like peels of ripped skin.
What had gone so wrong in that house for it to be locked up so tight? The stories still send a chill down my spine to this very day.
My finger hung over the cracked doorknob as I steeled myself for what I'd find...
About the Creator
K.H. Obergfoll
Writing my escape, planning my future one story at a time. If you like what you read—leave a comment, an encouraging tip, or a heart. It is always appreciated!!
& above all—thank you for your time
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
"peels of ripped skin." brilliant.