writing
my torture never ends
My feet burn with every languid step against the sticks digging into them. My heart’s hammering, my lungs are heaving, and my throat feels tight; each breath I take feels punched out of me. My world feels insanely larger than the four damp walls that were my lifelong enclosure. My shadow flickers in front of me. They’re chasing me. Everytime their flashlight shines onto my pale skin, I’m covered in gunk. My hope is fading rapidly. Then my world is gone. I can’t feel pain anymore, but even as my mind is separated from my body, I’m still being tortured.
gone?
My black cat disappeared months ago. He would go outside and hunt, oftentimes in the woods. He’s gone now. Last night, he came back. Bolts of lightning lit up the sky, the rain pattered against the windows. I swear I saw him outside. But since then, my other cats have been disappearing one by one every week. I frequently see an oddly distorted figure outside, highlighted by lightning. It’s been getting closer. Tonight, I hear my door unlock and slide open. The floorboards creak as it drags closer, grasping onto my doorframe and creeping on two feet. That’s not him.