SimplyWolves

The steady creak of floorboards under socked feet. Small hands gripping the worn fur of an old friend. A long hallway that seemed never ending. A single door, something passed by every day. Hesitation. What will it be this time? The monster. Growls seep from under the door. Hesitation. Small hand, trembling fingers, sweaty palm pressed against that door. Mommy always said to be brave. Hesitation. That door gets pushed open with a quiet squeak. Stop! Wait. Were you seen? No. Start again. Look through the crack. A mass of shadows contorts and writhes. Getting bigger and smaller in a second. The shadow lets out a roar and another bot

       I didn’t know the guy, no one did, he was one of those weirdos who was always sick and never spoke to anyone. He wore dark baggy jeans, winter gloves and boots, three-sizes too large sweatshirts (hood always up), surgical mask, and something similar to snowboarding goggles every day. He sat in the back corner of the classroom, never called on, never speaking out, just staring or sleeping, we could never tell because the goggles were so darkly tinted. He was a mystery and nobody bothered to try and figure him out.       I didn’t mean to, I had just walked into the locker room to see him standing at one of the sinks. He did

"You've got the motherfucking right to remain silent!" The lone shadow circled the figure in the chair, like an animal hunting its prey. "Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law." The figure in the chair didn't move, didn't make a sound. The perfect example of a convicted man. Perfect. The shadow still circled, the figure still sat. Perfect. Silent. Suddenly there was rebellion, the figure in the chair moved, breaking the perfection of the melodical circling and sitting, sitting and circling. A grin split the darkness, to wide yet not. The teeth glowed in a ghastly yellow tinted light, and a badge gleamed on

The light outside my window frightens me It is not sunlight It is not a light from the streetlamps It is a light that flickers and moves to a dance all its own Waving beautifully and yet frighteningly all the same The light flickers and devours Everything Once it dies nothing will be left The light eats, feeds, consumes on anything but the light has a favorite a meal unlike any other. A meal of paper and leather, ink and ideas. The pages fly, a flash of a pure white, trying to escape the snapping light. The ideas placed there being released from their homes Falling and forever forgotten from the minds of those who wrote them I

 “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” The shadows in the alley covered the man’s face, but his voice was hypnotic. It almost seemed to be pulling Miranda into the dark, confined space, closer to him. “Come closer, I know the question is eating at you, making you want to answer more and more. You know you won’t be able to leave unless you guess. So come over.” Almost in a daze, Miranda felt her head begin to nod and her feet led her closer, drawn to the man’s lilting words. All she had to do was guess what was in his pocket. How hard could it be? Just a quick, simple guess the