《The Shortest Tales: Horror》 The Darkness of Life The Darkness of Life The sky slowly turned black as shadows entered the world once more, the brightness of light had finally disappeared. Jordan had little time to make it back home, his bicycle wasn''t the quickest item of transportation. He knew it had been a mistake to stay out as long as he did, but his want to experience the outside world before darkness consumed it triumphed any rationality he possessed. His pace quickened as his environment darkened, the peddles moving as fast as he could will them to go. The view of his house entered his vision, he was nearly there. Once he stepped inside his home, all the fear within his soul would diminish, he would be safe. His muscles ached, sweat penetrated every portion of his body, he was so close. As he entered the driveway, he tossed his bicycle on the ground and dashed to the front door. But as he reached for the doorknob, the light dissipated fully, and he was left in the darkness that terrified him so. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Jordan was frozen, he could not move, it was as if he was asleep with paralysis, unable to make any motion as the demons crawled slowly toward where he slept. A tear ran down his face, his stupidity had led to his downfall, he had failed to follow the warning given by those around him. Even as his hand clenched the doorknob, he could not turn it, he could do nothing but accept his fate. His eyes looked down to his feet as a black puddle began to form. It was the consistency of ink, so dark in color that light itself was consumed from its mere presence. The puddle grew until it covered both of his feet. A hand reached up out of the liquid and grasped Jordan''s shoulder. The proportions were impossible, fingers as long as the arm it was attached to. Another hand grabbed his leg, a third his stomach, and than a final covering his entire face. All he could do was scream as the hands pulled him into the puddle, into the black abyss that was filled with nothing but the void. As Jordan disappeared from the Earth, finally consumed by his nightmares, not a sound was uttered, for his absence meant nothing. Darkness is not only an abstract thought, but a physical reality that can destroy a person and all they define themselves to be. The Cold Within Us I feel so cold. So unbelievably cold. Where am I? I cannot tell, darkness consumes my vision. Not a hint of light surrounds me, I cannot even determine if my eyes are open. Ice, ice is the texture of my skin, the feeling inside my soul. I am so very cold. Is this what it feels like to die? Is the emptiness within me a manifestation of my death? Time passes, and yet what must be a second feels like an eternity. The Universe was created and destroyed in the time it took to have this thought. I am everything, and I am nothing. My blood feels as though it is freezing within my own body, trapping me within the shell of myself. I cannot move, I cannot think, I cannot feel. My eyes open, I see deep, dark shades of blue. Bubbles float upwards from my mouth. I try to breathe and I only inhale the very liquid that I am suspended in. Pain, so much pain. Strength comes from my fear as I push towards the surface. The dark blue slowly becomes lighter, and lighter. My brain feels as though it¡¯s holding the weight of the world, and it¡¯s seconds away from failing. My vision begins to return to darkness as I reach the exterior of the water, for my soul is about to abandon its capsule. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Light floods into myself as I clench the sides of solid sheets of ice surrounding me. I cough and cough till there is nothing left within my body. It is difficult to make out the view in front of me, but it is brighter than anything I¡¯ve ever seen. As my eyes adjust, I see snow, trees, and the deep lake below. I lay my head down, my body drenched with frost. It appeared that it was rather easy to take the wrong step when walking on a ¡°frozen¡± lake. As I slow my breathing, I comprehend the thoughts that had tormented me during my moment of weakness. Was this what God felt like? Completely alone in the void, centuries passing in the blink of an eye, knowing all there is to know but knowing nothing at all? Having no fear, no happiness, nothing but the absence of all that makes you human? In the moment, I was the pure manifestation of existentialism that had followed me all my life. Those who have said that moments of death slowly gripping your corpse cause the most profound thoughts, are most certainly correct. Scars Scars make us who we are. They are pinpoints into the pathways of our lives. Some scars are as simple as falling off of a scooter as a child, or burning your hand in the oven. Others, however, tend to be more gruesome in detail, and signify more than just an accident. Years ago, I had the perfect face, the perfect skin. It was utterly flawless, nothing could compare to its beauty. I was obsessed with it, I consistently received compliments, and they did nothing but feed my ego. One day, as I was passing the mirror, I noticed a blemish of sorts. It was a nuisance and ruined the complexion I worked so hard to maintain. Unfortunately, there was little I could do, as I had planned a day to spend time with friends. So I went about my activities trying my best to ignore it, but every time I came into view of a mirror, I was torn away from any conversation I was in. I stared deeply, analyzing the imperfection. Once I returned home, I immediately applied a variety of skin products in order to rid myself of such a pathetic insignificance. The next day arrived and the blemish was still there. This time I dedicated the entirety of my time to solving such a problem. I plucked and dabbed, yet it was persistent. I began to peel it off with my fingernail. As I returned to the mirror, I realized it had only made it worse. I continued to find ways to rid itself from my body, even attempting to scrub it off rather violently with a washcloth. But it did nothing but worsen the problem. Now, there was much more than a blemish. Fear of losing my perfection, and in an act of desperation, I brandished a knife. Perhaps if the spot was removed, it would give my skin what it needed to heal naturally, just like a cut or scrape. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. I slowly dug away with the dull blade, slicing and tearing at the discoloration. It was an intense pain, but saving my beauty was more important. I ripped off the small bit of skin that had caused so much trouble, satisfied with my work. As I looked in the mirror once more, I was disgusted. The deep red left behind was even worse, it contrasted more with my face than the spot that was there previously. Tears ran down my face, I was unbelievably horrific, I couldn¡¯t remain in such a state. I peeled at the edges of the wound, trying to get it to come off. There had to be healthier skin somewhere beneath. Inch by inch, I chipped away, pulling what could only be unimportant, dead skin. In fact, I was likely doing my face a favor, saving myself from having to spend time on exfoliation. Some pieces were more difficult to pull than others, and it took a great deal of time, but eventually I was able to make my skin match, there were no blemishes whatsoever. I stared into the mirror and laughed, I was beautiful once more! No imperfections, no marks, only pure, level skin! My face was a bit redder than it was compared to yesterday, and it felt more wet, but I was convinced that it was only part of the process of fresh skin coming to the surface. Red liquid streamed down my face, but I wiped it away without giving it much thought. Oddly enough, there was enough skin that it collected in a face-like mask, which was unusual. There had been far more dead skin cells that had needed to be removed than I thought. I brushed away the skin and marveled at my appearance. Now, all I had to do was wait, for it wouldn¡¯t be long before I had my perfect face once more. However, my skin did not heal as I expected it to. My unbeatable appearance did not reappear, and I was instead left with a face of horror. My disfigurement is a representation of my obsession. I no longer show my face, I no longer go to public places. When people react with disgust to what I am now, all I can think of is how beautiful I once was, oh, if only they knew. Nothingness I feel so empty inside. My days are dull, and my nights are filled with nothingness. All I do is stare at my laptop screen, browsing, wasting away precious hours that could be used to better myself. There is no motivation, there is nothing inside my soul. Emotions are sparse, the only joy, sadness, and anger I feel is surface level. It¡¯s as though I am a shell, a husk of a being and nothing more. Even at this moment, as I look at my screen, I am completely empty of thought. As I continue to stare, the screen blackens, and then reawakens with nothing but static imagery. Confusion enters my mind as I press several buttons on the keyboard. Even as I attempt to power it off, it remains in a static state, black and white rapidly flashing across the screen. I slam the device shut and put my hands on my face. An intense headache rolls over my head, so painful that I am forced to drop to the ground. Nausea invades my sense of being, the urge to vomit is extreme. I am unable to make it to the toilet as I hurl liquid out of my mouth. However, instead of receiving the awful, metallically sick taste of semi-digested food, I am left with a different flavor, a different texture. A deep, black, oil-like substance begins to pour from my mouth uncontrollably. It¡¯s as if my entire body is compressing within itself to release all the crude fuel found deep in the Earth. After several minutes, I am able to catch my breath as I collapse in the pool of dreadful oil. I lift my head slowly and stare at the filth beneath me. Strangely enough, it does not stick to me, or stay on my clothes. It¡¯s as if it¡¯s an entirely separate entity not of this world. As I focus on the mess, a figure slowly rises from the oil in my room, completely black. Terrified, I back away to the corner, trying to create as much space as possible, yet there is no where to go. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The figure reaches its full height, resembling a human form completely covered in the oil-like substance. No discernible features can be seen. The figure slowly approaches my position, the remaining black liquid following behind, as if attracted like a magnet. As the humanoid object stands only a few feet from me, it lowers its empty face to mine. Eyes emerge from the oil, overly large and utterly terrifying. A wide grin with jagged, decaying teeth is formed as well, stretching across its entire face to impossible proportions. As the mouth opens, a loud, unholy sound is produced. Laughter. Both ear piercing and so low in frequency that I could feel the floor vibrate. I cover my ears with my hands and close my eyes, praying for the nightmare to end. The figure grabs my hands with its own and forces me to look, as my eyes are mysteriously opened for me. The figure places its own face inches from mine and stares into my soul. Its eyes are blacker than the deepest of voids. I hear a low bellow come from the creature, ¡°Do not fear, for you know me just as much as you know yourself, you are me, and I am you.¡± The wide grin returns, the eyes piercing my soul. The entity uses its hands to grasp my jaw, one hand on the roof of my mouth, the other on the bottom. I feel my mouth stretch and stretch, until it is impossibly wide. I am paralyzed, I can do nothing but remain as I always am, still. The terrible sickness I felt before returned as I felt a plethora of the oil enter my mouth, it slowly sliding down my throat. I feel my eyes roll into the back of my head as my mind retreats from thought. My suffering continues till there is none of the oily liquid remaining. I cough, but it feels as though the liquid was never there. As the sick feeling disappears, my emptiness returns. My fear of the monster, my feelings of relief, my confusion, all evaporate. I return to my bed and open my laptop, the screen normal once more. I lay back down in my bed and continue to scroll, feeding the nothingness within my soul, for he is me, and I am him. The Dangers Of Being Late Keith cursed himself. It had been a mistake to sleep in as long as he did. As he sped down the road, his headlights flickered. ¡°Not now you piece of shit!¡± he yelled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He still hadn¡¯t adjusted to the odd sleeping schedule, working night shifts was a new experience. Fortunately, he was the only one on the road, no one was present to witness his erratic driving. He raced across the dark path, which had little streetlights due to its remoteness. Keith pressed down on the pedal, causing the old vehicle to shift gears. ¡°Go go go!¡± The lights flickered once more. Keith looked at the road worryingly, he couldn¡¯t afford to be concerned about his safety, he COULD NOT be late. He had been fired one too many times for his tardiness. As he continued to break plenty of driving laws, he looked around in the vehicle for the food he had packed himself. He snatched a sandwich and slowly brought his eyes back to the road. ¡°WAIT, NO-¡± he screamed as he saw the last thing he expected. A little girl popped into existence and was now in the dead center of his car¡¯s path. Keith yanked the steering wheel and slammed on his brakes, but it was a little too late. Time slowed and he felt the gravity around him alter, his sandwich flew out of his hand and his own body went tumbling. He had hit the girl, he had felt her form slam against the side of his vehicle. As time returned to its normal speed, his body went numb and all Keith could hear around him was destruction. Finally, after what must¡¯ve been a millennia, he felt himself come to rest. Stolen story; please report. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crumpled mess of the car. His vision turned red as he felt liquid cover his face. His insides felt torn, obliterated, he couldn¡¯t even comprehend what he was sensing. Keith slightly raised his head and looked at his stomach, or where it perhaps once was. Now, his entire chest seemed to be ripped open from skidding across the concrete. Dark, warm fluid drenched his clothes. A figure entered his view as he strained to focus on it. The little girl. No, impossible, she had been hit, she had to be dead, or just as injured as him. As he stared at her, Keith noticed some odd qualities. Her body was also covered in blood, her jaw seemed to be missing, and several sharp objects that were the color of his once-car stuck out of her. ¡°How¡­¡± he whispered. Keith saw her eyes squint, and her cheekbones rise, she was¡­smiling. As he came to a strange realization, the girl walked away, leaving him to his fate. Keith coughed and clenched his chest, ¡°All of this¡­for¡­a s-stupid¡­job¡­I¡­didn¡¯t even¡­want.¡± Horror of War The sound of war surrounded Conrad, the smell of blood penetrated the air. He was living a nightmare of untold proportions. He had joined with his friends, his brothers, to protect his country from the invasion that threatened their way of life. In the beginning, he had expected to only be gone for a few months, but he was sorely mistaken. He had been sent to the Western Front to protect the fall of France. ¡°The War to End All Wars,¡± they called it, such a name still wasn¡¯t enough to encompass its horror. Conrad gripped his metal helmet tightly, lying in one of the trenches he had been forced to call home. Gunfire and explosions filled his ears, accompanied by the never-ending screams of death. ¡°Alright men, time to do your duty!¡± yelled an officer nearby. A whistle blew, signifying that the moment of his torture had come. He forced himself to stand, and with the other soldiers, he climbed up the trench, taking his first step into hell. The view in front of him could only have been created by Lucifer himself. For as far as the eye could see, there was only a crude, thick wasteland. With great effort, Conrad put one foot in front of the other and started to sprint, as did those around him. Explosions from shells launched by the enemy filled his senses. Fear melded itself to his soul, he could not run any farther. Conrad slid into a dent in the ground, likely left from a previous blast. He gripped his rifle tightly and breathed faster than his lungs could manage. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. There were too many bodies to count, a great mass of them laid right across from him, blood everywhere. For a moment, all went quiet. The gunfire ceased and the explosions stopped. That¡¯s when it came, one of man¡¯s worst creations. A greenish-yellow gas flooded the landscape, causing Conrad to quickly reach into his sack and equip a mask. Screams echoed everywhere from all around him. He turned to his left and saw a fellow soldier fall into the pit, clenching his face. The man screamed and screamed till his vocal cords went hoarse. Conrad began to panic, his mask fogging from hyperventilation. The man crawled over to Conrad and looked him dead in the eyes, placing Conrad¡¯s face up to his. ¡°Please, kill me, please! PLEASE!¡± The soldier¡¯s eyes had begun to go white, blisters forming over them. His face melting, burning, being destroyed right before him. The gunfire and shells started once more, causing Conrad to break. His dead brothers, his dear friends, the family he left behind, all flashing in front of him. As he pointed the rifle at the tortured man, all he could think of was how badly he wanted out of the nightmare. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m sorry,¡± he whispered, addressing the soldier, and his loved ones, as Conrad pointed the rifle towards the front of his own head and pulled the trigger. Brotherly Love It was night again, Luke couldn¡¯t help but look forward to his evening activities. His life at school was dreadful, his parents always fought, and the death of his younger brother haunted him. It was a terrible, awful accident. The stupid kid wasn¡¯t paying attention and had run into the street during darker hours. It was truly horrific how easily a car could kill someone, of course, it doesn¡¯t help when the headlights of said car are broken. The only relief he got from his thoughts was reading a novel that he and his brother had liked. It wasn¡¯t anything special, a simple story about a boy on an adventure to find his long lost sibling, but it had always connected deeply with Luke. At one point, his own brother had a copy of the book as well, though it had gone missing after his death. And so Luke sat in his bed, reading the piece of literature he had flipped through ten times over. As he was nearing the end of one of the chapters, he noticed the light within his lamp flicker. It continued to do, prompting Luke to turn it off and on. However, it failed to ignite and stayed dead. Luke scoffed as he got up from his bed and attempted to turn on his ceiling light. It too failed, keeping his room plunged in darkness. As Luke groaned, about to exit his room and call his parents, a strange knocking came from his window, near his bed. He approached the glass film and peered through, yet there was nothing outside. How odd. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Luke returned to the door handle, turning it, moments away from calling the name¡¯s of his parents. The knocking continued for a second and then ceased. Fear trickled into Luke¡¯s thoughts, his heart rate quickened. Was someone playing a prank on him? He looked out the window once more, but all was still, nothing could be seen. ¡°Enough of this¡­¡± he muttered to himself as he began to open the door and leave his room. For a third time, a light knocking was heard. Instinctively, Luke tried to flick the ceiling light on again, even though it didn¡¯t work the first time. To his surprise, the room quickly illuminated itself, a dim, yellow luster covering the area. Luke¡¯s heart stopped as he viewed the window for a final time. Something had been drawn on the surface of the glass¡­from the inside. A red, thick liquid had been traced in the shape of a dreadful, disturbing smiley face. A red handprint had been pressed on the window as well, right next to it. Below the handprint, on the floor, laid a book. Luke hesitantly picked it up, revealing it to be the same novel he had been reading. He opened the cover, and on the very first page, his brother¡¯s name was violently scribbled, right next to the same grotesque smiley face staring back at him. Welcome Home Alex stood in the graveyard, silence and darkness surrounding him. Before him was a marble tombstone that glimmered in the moonlight. Alex took a knee and placed his hand on its corner. ¡°Damn you, you stupid fool,¡± he whispered to the grave as a tear trickled down his face. Beneath him, buried, was once his closest friend. He was more than a friend, a brother. During his lonely nights, his moments of rage, and instances of deep despair, he had always been there without fail. Alex raised himself up and scowled, wiping his face. ¡°How could you have been so selfish?¡± he said in a low tone. Part of him still had yet to forgive the action his friend had taken. Alex had always been the broody one, skulking about, nurturing the hateful thoughts that followed him inside his mind. The man buried however, was a ray of sunshine in a dim world. Always positive, always cheerful, always looking for a way to help those around him. But to Alex¡¯s dismay, he had been fighting his own battles silently. The divorce of his parents, the loss of his sister, all of it had eventually caught up to him. The day Alex found him forever haunted his soul. He had been trying to contact him, without much success, so he took it upon himself to investigate. When Alex finally managed to budge open his apartment door, what he saw changed him. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Bits of brain and splashes of blood covered the white wall, his body lying silently with a revolver in his hand, and the smell, it burned, oh did it burn. As Alex relived the scene in his head, staring at the grave, he keeled over and vomited. Such a flood of emotions had made him sick. As he wiped his mouth, he returned his gaze to the tomb. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Alex muttered as he coughed. ¡°I¡­I wish I could see you¡­one last time¡­¡± he whispered as his voice broke. As he began to leave and return to reality, an odd, deep rumbling was felt. With confusion, Alex turned around and looked at the gravestone. ¡°Oh¡­but you can see him, you will¡­¡± roared a loud, thunderous voice that rattled the bones inside his body. Right before him, the ground began to break open, a massive crack had formed, splitting the Earth in two. The tombstone was torn in half as two sides of the world began to crack apart. Right below his feet, he could see fire, an untold amount of fire. Flames stretched outwards, grasping Alex¡¯s legs. The sight before him was incomprehensible, it was as if he was staring straight into Hell. Screams filled his ears and his entire soul. Alex let out his own scream as he was slowly pulled into the pits of the Earth. ¡°Welcome¡­home¡­¡± shook the voice, the ground returning to its form, sealing the gateway where evil and suffering resided. The Child of Nature Clouds were a thing of beauty in the mind of Nathan, he found them mesmerizing. Their range from being fluffy dots in the sky, to waves of white that covered the entire horizon, was truly magnifying. He had spent hours staring up into the blue, never-ending surface, forgetting his worries and anxiety. Some of his most peaceful moments occurred at sunset, the fire of light igniting the sky in an array of colors. Nathan had the perfect spot to relax, the same spot he was occupying right now. It was away from the turmoil of the modern city, a hill that stood up high, overlooking the nature below. As he rested on top, laying on his back, his eyes became out of focus as he let the view consume his senses. A smile crept across his face as his mind remained clear of thought, such peace was the most valuable commodity in existence. Nathan sat there for a great while, until he drifted into a light sleep that he could not remember. As his eyes fluttered and he awoke, the blue sky had disappeared. Instead, left in its wake was a dark, cloudy tidal wave. It had casted the land in shadow, lightning crackled above. Nathan determined that it was time to leave, and so he picked himself up from the vibrant grass and prepared to walk home. He turned his eyes to the sky a final time, but was unable to look away. Something had caught his eye, a small swirl in the darkness. It was rotating lightly, barely noticeable. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Nathan remained there for several minutes, watching out of curiosity. His eyes began to widen as the funnel cloud picked up traction and became larger every second. Before his very view, it had gone to being barely more than a whisper, to a strong, powerful finger of the sky. Without a second thought, Nathan sprinted as fast as his legs could maintain. He dared not to look back as he continued to run. After several minutes, he had made it to a smaller hill that was near a suburban neighborhood. Against his better judgment, he turned around. A monster had taken center stage, it was as if God had reached down to Earth. The beast had touched ground and had managed to strengthen at an impossible rate. The tornado was massive, debris was visible, flying around at dangerous speeds. Nathan was struck with fear, his legs would not move. As the monstrous storm moved forward, it passed him, invading his eardrums with the sound of destruction as it entered the neighborhood. He could not look away, he was faced to watch as the demon ruined the lives of many, leaving only death and those to mourn it. The beautiful sky that he loved dearly had taken its vengeance, sparing none that had the misfortune of being in its path. Nature did not love, it did not hate, it was immovable as the child it had created. Lost Darkness had set in a little too fast, far quicker than Ronald was expecting. He had always enjoyed hiking, walking through the untamed nature that occupied the landscape. However this time, he had spent too long admiring the beauty around him. Ronald had only anticipated spending a few hours in the thick forest, but he somehow had gotten turned around. Even with his compass, he was unable to find his way back. It didn¡¯t help that he had gone alone, and had no cell service. ¡°Son of a bitch¡­¡± he murmured to himself as his phone began to run out of power, the sun setting in the distance. The last thing he wanted to do was spend a night in the woods. As much as he liked nature, he knew that certain predators came out in the dark, using the shadows to hunt their prey. Ronald continued to walk in the direction he thought he came from. The sun was no longer visible, and darkness crept across the sky. It wasn¡¯t long before it was completely pitch black. He had wasted his phone¡¯s battery trying to get service, and now he was left without a source of light. He cursed himself for being so underprepared. As he continued to hike through the forest, creatures around him became alive. He heard the howling of wolves, the chirping of insects, and the calls of owls. Wiping his forehead, he took a seat on what felt like a stump of some sort. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As Ronald contemplated his thoughts, a stick broke behind him with a snap. He whipped his head around as fast as he could, but he saw nothing in the darkness. A terrifying reality set in. Even if some creature was around, he¡¯d have no idea. It was so dark, that it could come face to face with him and he still wouldn¡¯t know it was there. Another snapped twig was heard, Ronald staring in the direction of the sound. Fear trickled down his spine, he indeed wasn¡¯t alone. After a few seconds, he began to feel moisture collect on his neck. Confused, he turned around. That¡¯s when he bumped his face into something that he couldn¡¯t see, something soft. Ronald jumped to his feet and began to run. He didn¡¯t make it very far before tripping on an unseen object. Before a second could pass, he felt his throat being choked as he was picked up from the ground. He couldn¡¯t breathe, the hand around him gripping harder with its leathery texture. Ronald felt a sharp pain in his chest, warm liquid soaked his clothing. Out of the darkness, he saw two white eyes gleaming, staring into his soul. He felt numb, touching his chest and feeling a large hole, big enough to fit his own fist. Before he could collect his thoughts, his body was thrown to the ground. Ronald drifted into unconsciousness, unable to comprehend the creature that had stolen his heart, and his life along with it. Lunar Loneliness ¡°Once you¡¯ve collected adequate samples, please return to the module,¡± said a voice inside the astronaut¡¯s helmet. He had trained years for this moment, to experience something very few people have ever done in history, explore the Moon. After decades of absence when it came to humanity¡¯s connection with the object, NASA had finally determined that another mission was worth the expenditure. They wished to analyze the molecular makeup of some of the material found in the craters, to determine if remnants of such impact events remained. It was an honor to have been selected for the task. Oddly enough, NASA had chosen only a single individual for the venture, and fortunately, he was the man for the job. The astronaut carefully collected a few chunks found within one of the craters, and began his short trip back to the lunar module. The texture of the surface was dust-like, finer than any sand he had examined. His movements were exaggerated and took three times as long to perform due to the low gravity. It was a very unique experience, one he wouldn¡¯t soon forget. As he reached the module, he took a look at Earth. It was so difficult to comprehend, but one thing was clear, the untold beauty it possessed. Everything seemed so far away, so miniscule, his worries and minute thoughts. All was dwarfed by the giant planet that he and his species called home. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Have you obtained the samples?¡± the same voice asked once more. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m entering the lunar module now,¡± the astronaut said as he turned towards the object that had taken him on his adventure. ¡°Copy, once you¡¯ve entered, let us-¡± before the radio contact could finish, they were cut off abruptly, followed by only static. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, could you repeat that? Over.¡± said the astronaut. No one responded. He continued to attempt to contact his team back on Earth for several minutes, without much success. His suit began to feel heavy on him as worry set in. Unsure of what to do, he turned to look at Earth. The astronaut felt his chest clench, his throat tense, and his hands shake. He could faintly see explosions light up the atmosphere within the planet, as if little marks were being made by a pencil. More dots than he could count appeared rapidly across several of the land masses that could be seen. The North American continent was in view, and from the astronaut¡¯s knowledge of geography, several hotspots had been hit, though it was difficult to fully see. Washington D.C., New York City, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco, even parts of Canada and Mexico were being targeted. Nuclear war¡­it was the only explanation. There had been discussion of another Arms Race but¡­he thought such talk disregardable. With no contact left, there was nothing that could be done. He was forced to watch humanity destroy itself until the inevitable loss of breathable air occurred, leaving him to die in complete loneliness. Worms Traveling had always been something Joseph treasured, it brought valuable insight into all types of cultures and traditions across the world. He had been exploring the obscure crevices of the planet for as long as he could remember, starting with his parents doing the same thing. However, a recent trip to an unnamed river in the wilderness of Somalia hadn¡¯t gone as planned. The country itself was dangerous, but he felt it was well worth the risk. Against his better judgment, he decided to take a swim in the river. The water had been cool and pleasant, nothing seemed awry. After returning from the trip however, Joseph was left with an odd sensation. It felt as though his skin was tingling, including in the present, the feeling has only worsened. Even now, he scratched and picked at his arms and legs. It started out as a minor nuisance, but now, it confused and consumed him. As he stared down at his limbs, the numbness only worsened. The tingling was unbearable, it felt as though someone had cut circulation from his body parts. As Joseph began to focus on his right arm, he noticed an odd detail. There was a line, almost like a vein, that was pulsating. He jumped as he saw said ¡°line¡± move within his own skin, the pulsation becoming more apparent. As he turned to look at his other arm, he noticed a similar feature. His legs had it as well. ¡°There are¡­creatures inside me, inside my skin!¡± he realized. He was disturbed, disgusted, and dumbfounded. Even the thought of having such beasts within his body made him squirm. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. In a desperate attack of fear, he snatched a kitchen knife that he had used to eat a meal, and pressed it to the protruding ¡°vein.¡± With the carelessness of a child, he sliced open his right forearm, blood gushing as the blade cut into the skin. His hands shook as he dug into his own flesh, removing the demon that invaded his person. In his hand now rested a thin, transparent, tube-like creature, its length being rather impressive. Joseph shuddered as he threw down the worm onto the floor and stomped it with the heel of his boot. As he was about to continue eradicating the creatures from his other limbs, he noticed the odd sensation coming from his neck. In great fear, he touched his throat, and to his surprise, the pulsation could be felt in a horizontal line. Without thinking rationally, Joseph stabbed the knife into the worm in an attempt to cut it out as he did with the other. ¡°Oh¡­shit¡­¡± he said, coughing, as a warm liquid flowed over his fingers. Joseph collapsed on the floor, clenching his throat, attempting to stop the havoc he caused on his own body. He was unable to breathe as he choked on his own blood. As he laid on the ground, all he could feel was the worms inside of him, feasting on his flesh. Reflections The party was only a couple hours away, Daniel had spent the last several minutes arranging his attire, he wanted to make sure that he looked his best. He sported white pants, a black undershirt, and an unbuttoned jacket that tied everything together. Daniel was always one to care greatly about his appearance. He felt that if he was around other people, it was important to frame his personality with a snazzy look. Daniel straightened the jacket around his shoulders and approached a mirror in his bathroom. His reflection stared back at him as he examined himself. ¡°Not bad¡­¡± he thought, checking his own body out from a multitude of angles. As he prepared to leave the bathroom, he gave his image one last look, smirking. However, the reflection did not return the movement. Daniel did a double-take as he realized the odd occurrence. His reflection was just¡­standing still, with a blank face. Even as he moved, waved his hand in the air, changed his facial expression, the reflection did not mimic his actions. He smacked himself across the head, was he dreaming? He flicked the light switch off and on, but it did nothing to change the anomaly. Daniel pressed his hands against the mirror and brought his face up to the surface, staring deeply into the eyes of his counterpart. Quicker than he could blink, a smile crept across the lips of the reflection, a wide, unsettling grin. The teeth were not his own, they had unusual features, a weird sense of jaggedness. The counterpart grinned, far wider than any normal human could. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. The glass behind his hands, holding Daniel up, gave way, shattering into millions of pieces. Even as the mirror broke, the reflection remained standing, a black void behind it. The creature walked towards Daniel, and before he had a chance to react, the entity grabbed him by the throat. With unnatural power, he threw Daniel into the abyss that the demon had come from. He felt as though he was standing on nothing, but still managed to avoid falling, the absence of gravity was unsettling. The reflection stared back at him, their roles now reversed. The glass repaired itself at lightning speed, trapping Daniel in the void. Now, the counterpart was looking into the mirror, while Daniel was physically in it. It was as if he had been trapped inside a black box, the only light coming from the bathroom, a glass barrier separating reality. Daniel banged his fists against the glass to no avail. The monster maintained its grin, waving at Daniel as it flicked the lightswitch off and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind it. Darkness consumed him, it felt like being in a deprivation tank, nothing to sense whatsoever. Daniel was left to suffer in the black abyss as his reflection took his place, it continued to grin, celebrating the new life that presented itself before it. Mental Trickery Michael was trapped, he felt his chest being slowly crushed by the weight of the vehicle on top of him. His memory was fuzzy, all he remembered was a truck barrelling across the wrong side of traffic. He had tried to move his own car to avoid a head-on collision, but alas. His ears rang, numbness seeped through his body. It was hard to focus, his head felt like it was falling off his own body. With great difficulty, Michael was able to remove whatever part of his vehicle was putting pressure on his chest. However, he wasn¡¯t conscious enough to keep the piece of metal off of him for long. He tried his best to slide out through the driver¡¯s side window, which had been utterly destroyed. Michael was able to remove most of his body, but before he could maneuver his arm out of the way, his strength gave out. The scrap that had been crushing his chest now slammed on his left arm. He screamed loudly, the pain more intense than anything he had ever felt. It was as if his forearm had been forced to endure the weight of a hydraulic press. Michael squirmed in pain, his body scraping across the asphalt. He pulled, twisted, turned, and did everything possible to free his forearm, but it was no use. He called for help, yet no onlooker seemed to be present. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Through his pain, Michael noticed fuel leaking out of his car, as well as a light flame that came from his engine. Fear and panic set in, his heart rate spiked, he had to free himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, using his teeth to uncurl the blade. Michael gritted as he stared at his forearm, placing the edge up to his skin. He sliced, stabbed, picked, and completely destroyed the flesh surrounding the bone, all while letting out an ear-piercing wail. All that remained connected was the bone itself. Michael, somehow still conscious from the adrenaline, placed his arm up against a piece of metal, used the leverage, and snapped the bone with great force. The pain was too much to comprehend, causing Michael to pass out, unable to move any further. It felt like seconds, but he was awake once more. Someone was pulling him away from the destroyed vehicle. Huffing was heard behind him, ¡°Why¡­why did you¡­do that to your arm?¡± said the man pulling him. Michael¡¯s eyes fluttered open as sharp, violent pain entered his mind. ¡°Car¡­going to¡­explode¡­fire¡­gas,¡± he muttered softly. ¡°What? No, there¡¯s no fire, what are you talking about?¡± As Michael¡¯s eyes returned to the scene, he noticed that the man was right, there was no fire from the engine, only smoke, and no leaking gas could be seen either. In his panicked, shocked state, his brain had betrayed him, made him see things that weren¡¯t there. ¡°Dammit¡­¡± Michael whispered as he looked at the bloody stump that was once his arm, drifting into unconsciousness. Within The Cavern The cave was completely pitch black, without the source of light that was on top of Jack¡¯s helmet, he would be utterly lost. He greatly enjoyed venturing into the dark caverns, full of mystery. Normally, he would have been accompanied by a fellow spelunker, but, against the judgment of others, he decided to go alone. His logic was that he had enough experience to manage things on his own, and while company would¡¯ve been nice, it was unnecessary. Jack carefully slid down the rock wall, a rope attached to his belt, fastened to the top of the ledge. It was thrilling, he had to admit, being by himself. There was an extra sense of danger that he found exhilarating. As far as he knew, he should nearly be at the bottom of the cave. Any moment he was expecting his feet to touch the solid ground as he continued to carefully climb down the side of the stone wall. However, Jack noticed something odd. He felt a light rattling coming from the rope, which caused his belt to vibrate. He halted his movements, trying to determine what was happening. But before he could fully investigate, he felt complete slack on the rope, followed by a total loss of grip. Gravity took control of Jack¡¯s body as he fell. The connection to the ledge must have failed, he had been so sure it was secure. Jack was too terrified to let out any noise, even a scream. He felt the wind of the cavern below flow through him as he continued to fall. His helmet had toppled off his head, leaving him in absolute darkness. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but most likely had been only a few seconds, he landed on his feet onto the firm ground below. Pain shot up through his body, as if a white hot sword had been pushed into his legs, as well as his back. Jack let out a scream that echoed throughout the entire cavern. He was unable to move, completely paralyzed. The only body part he was able to control was his head. As he turned his face, he noticed his helmet, light protruding from the top of it. It lightly illuminated the ground it was laid upon. Jack saw that the floor had an almost sand-like texture, soft and coarse. As if on cue, he felt his body start to sink, as if it was being pulled further into the abyss. Quicksand, it had to be. It was extremely unlikely that quicksand would be found in caves, but it wasn¡¯t unheard of. Panic set in as Jack realized his fate. He attempted to twist and turn, but his body did not follow the signals his brain was communicating. His entire body was being consumed, and he could do nothing but lay in his own misery. Finally, Jack¡¯s head was forced under the sand, leaving him to suffocate in the caverns he loved so much. Another Victim Henry awoke with a start, confused as to where he was. The room was dark, slivers of light penetrating through a doorway several feet away. He was sitting in a chair, and what he could only imagine to be chains around his appendages, shackling him in place. The last thing Henry remembered was trying to stop some thugs from carjacking his vehicle. As he approached them, he had felt a hard object smack him in the back of his head. Now, he was alone in an unknown room, locked in place. His head throbbed as he regained his senses. Henry tried to wiggle and squirm, attempting to free himself through his movements. He had little success, the chains were fastened well. In an instant, the door in front of him opened, a light switch flicked on. Light flooded the environment, blinding him temporarily. He heard the faint buzz of old fluorescent bulbs, complimenting his feelings of disgust. A man stood in front of him, holding a hatchet. ¡°How are we feeling today?¡± the man asked in a low tone. He seemed to have an average build, his hair balding, and overall looked like a generic individual. However, Henry was mistaken, as he was not ¡°generic.¡± His eyes widened as he realized who this person was. He had seen his face online, reading through crime stories. The balding man was a well known murderer. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. A smile crept across the face of the man as he saw the expression that Henry was wearing. ¡°You know me¡­well, this will be fun¡­¡± the serial killer said softly, a hint of pleasure in his voice. The man ran the blade of the hatchet across Henry¡¯s neck, giggling while doing so. Instinctually, Henry headbutted the man as his fight or flight reflexes kicked in, causing him to drop the hatchet and back away. ¡°Ah, you bastard¡­¡± the serial killer muttered while holding his now broken nose. Henry tipped his chair over, causing him to fall backwards. This allowed him to quickly grasp the hatchet, even with his hands tied behind his back. With great difficulty, he was able to push himself up, hunching over, even with the chair still attached to him. ¡°Take this asshole!¡± he yelled as he jumped backwards to the man, the blade pointing in his direction. To Henry¡¯s surprise, he completely missed and toppled over, smashing the chair, along with his back, onto the floor. The middle aged killer picked up the hatchet once more and stared at Henry. ¡°Now, what did you expect to accomplish doing that?¡± He refused to reply and sat in silence. ¡°Hm, you¡¯re no fun,¡± the man said, like a child that had broken its toy. The serial killer picked up Henry¡¯s head by his hair, lifted the hatchet, and cleaved it into his throat. ¡°There we go, not so problematic anymore are we?¡± the man said as he watched Henry flop on the ground like a fish till he became acquainted with death. Nights of Darkness As I sit in the darkness, all I can think of is the mistakes I have made. Friendships broken, opportunities lost, consequences faced. There¡¯s no doubt that all of it has stood as a challenge to conquer, but within lies great regret. Not only do I contemplate my countless errors, but the complete, consuming loneliness takes over my soul. I try to escape such thoughts and emotions through virtual worlds, entertaining distractions, as well as the sweet embrace of sleep. However, in moments of darkness when all is quiet and I am left with my thoughts, sorrow takes over. It is overbearing, too powerful to resist. Part of me wants to feel this way, I want to experience my emotions that I have hidden from the view of others, and myself. Yet with such exposure comes pain and suffering. I cannot bear the chaos that wrestles inside my head. So I take the coward¡¯s way out, the only way I know. The knife that sits on my nightstand, an old friend, remnants of blood on the blade. It¡¯s unhealthy, that much is a fact, however I cannot stop. It has become a pattern, an urge to use the object when I am overwhelmed. Even though I know this, I choose not to stop. The scars covering my left arm stand as a testament to such a decision. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. I am so, so very lonely. I want to love, I want to be loved. My heart aches with sadness, and with that sadness, comes the inevitable swish of the blade. As I put the knife up to my throat, part of me wonders what would happen. Terrible pain perhaps, but would I finally be rid of the thoughts that torment me every night? Would my loneliness no longer matter? These ideas float through my mind as I feel the edge sting against my skin. With a huff, I drop the knife. Death is not the answer, it would only transfer my own suffering to those around me. My thoughts might be selfish, but I could never cause that level of emotional turmoil to anyone. And yet, in the darkness, I am still left with the never ending sorrow in my soul. The want to be loved, the need to have someone close, to be bonded with that special individual, still remains. As I lay my head down on my pillow, tears streaming down my face, I close my eyes, forgetting about the human desires that flow through my body for a short time. As the next day comes, a new, emotional battle will be faced in the darkness once more, and I will lose as always, but the war will continue to be fought till the end of my sanity. The Cabin Frederick couldn¡¯t believe his friends had managed to convince him to do something so ridiculously stupid. They were all standing outside of an abandoned house they had found deep in the woods. It was rather small, almost cabin size, and as far as they could tell, hadn¡¯t been touched in decades. The roof had begun to collapse, the wood decaying from rot. It was a rather pathetic sight, but there was something about it that made Frederick shiver. None of them had the courage to step inside, however, one of his friends was willing to give him twenty bucks for the endeavor. Despite the worry he felt, rationally, there was no reason to walk away from such a challenge. Frederick¡¯s friends stepped back as they watched him slowly open the door, it creaking violently. As he took a step inside the house, all he saw was darkness, even with the light of the outside world peering in through the doorway. He tried squinting to make out some of the detail, without much success. As he took another step, he heard the door slam behind him with great force. His friends were probably screwing with him, yet he still felt uneasy. Frederick banged his fists against the door, pleading to be let out, but no response came from the outside. His heart was racing, surely his friends wouldn¡¯t be that rude, this had to be some sort of a mistake. In fact, it was rather odd, as the ambiance from the outside was completely silenced, not a single sound could be heard. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but he could still see nothing. It was as if this place somehow repelled light altogether. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Frederick could do nothing but huddle in the corner, afraid to move or touch anything that might be inside with him. As he waited, he slowly faded into sleep, his mind drifting, doing its best to forget the nightmare he was trapped in. It felt like only minutes had passed when he heard the door open. He felt strange, tired almost, physically weak and mentally exhausted. His friends must¡¯ve finally gotten bored of the lackluster prank. He lifted himself up with great effort, and approached the doorway. A couple men stood outside, examining the place in odd clothing. As Frederick walked outside, confused, the men saw him and jumped. ¡°Woah, sir, are you alright?¡± Frederick didn¡¯t understand, where did his friends go? ¡°Where¡­what¡­¡± Frederick muttered softly. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± one of them asked. ¡°My¡­name is¡­Frederick.¡± One man turned to the other, his eyes wide. ¡°Isn¡¯t¡­isn¡¯t that the name of the kid that disappeared fifty years ago? My father always talked about him.¡± Frederick touched his face, it felt leathery, wrinkly. He had a long beard, coarse and thick. His hair stretched down as well, a light shade of gray. He had only been inside the house for a few minutes, and yet, he was no longer a boy, but an old, regretful man. Mutual Destruction It had begun, the thing they all feared would happen. It was the 1970s, the Cold War had been raging strong. The fear and hatred between the United States and Russia had only strengthened each passing year. John was in his classroom when it occurred. He sat silently as he twirled his finger, his teacher discussing topics he found rather dull. He rarely paid attention, and he was sure that doing so would eventually come back and bite him in the ass, but for the time being, like most students, he didn¡¯t care. His vision was out of focus as his thoughts retreated to the back of his mind, lost in daydreams. ¡°John, would you care to explain how we reached such a conclusion?¡± He snapped out of his fantasies and realized the teacher was talking to him. ¡°I¡­uh¡­¡± John stuttered as the teacher scoffed. Before he could even begin to try and make up a random answer, a horrifying sound was cast throughout the entire city. Sirens, air-raid sirens. The sound penetrated everything, including his soul. It sounded like a choir of angels, signaling inevitable death. Fear entered his body as John realized that today was not Wednesday, which was when the testing of said sirens occurred. Unfortunately, these air-raid sirens did not necessarily signal an air-raid, but rather a single, unmanned missile. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The teacher¡¯s eyes widened as he approached the window, staring outside. ¡°Alright everybody, remain calm!¡± the teacher stated as the class began to mummer. ¡°Please sit underneath your desks and place your hands over your head.¡± All of the students followed his directions as the sirens continued to blare. The teacher did the same, sitting underneath his own desk while breathing heavily. John didn¡¯t understand, how could this be happening? He had been told of the conflict, but he always imagined it like a battle being fought far away. He never anticipated it actually happening, it being real. As these thoughts circulated through his mind, it happened. A bright flash illuminated the windows, light pouring in as if the sun had collided with Earth. John didn¡¯t even have time to process its horror, and beauty, before the classroom ignited with flames. The speed at which the brain sends signals indicating pain to the body is extremely fast, but not as fast as the instant outcome that occurs when you¡¯re less than a mile from the initial explosion. Before John could process the burns, he was vaporized as his classroom was utterly destroyed, and fire consumed the city. Both of the superpowers, Russian and the United States, had been developing nuclear weapons so strong during the Cold War, that all it took was one single test on the enemy to launch the destruction of humanity. Unfortunately, John and his fellow classmates had a front row seat to the beginning of the end. Grasp of Wire Barbed wire had always been a common thing in Theo¡¯s life. In his youth, he had grown up stringing fences with his father, and now, he was following in his footsteps. He had a fairly decent business, and while he didn¡¯t make a whole lot of money, it was enough to sustain his way of life. Part of him enjoyed the work, as it reminded him of father, who had passed away years ago. It was tiresome, and he often spent many hours out in the sun, but it could¡¯ve been worse. However, this time, Theo was somewhat uneasy. An old man had requested for a fence to be created in the back of his house, which stood alone in a forest. It was an odd request, but he tried his best to not ask questions and just get the work done. He had spent hours digging the holes and had finally managed to pack the posts in deep. He reached into his truck and pulled out a massive coil of barbed wire. He grabbed the end of the strand and wrapped it tightly around the first post. Theo continued the work for some time, twisting and turning the material, doing his best to make sure he didn¡¯t snag his flesh on the barbs. As he neared the end of the first part of the fence-in-progress, he snapped the metal off and wrapped it around another post. Theo had made a great deal of progress in a short time, which, in his opinion, was worthy of a break. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As he sat on the bed of his truck, eating a sandwich, he dropped the large coil of barbed wire at his feet. As he rested, he felt an odd sensation. It felt like something was slithering up his left leg. Without looking, he scratched his limb, but was met with a sharp pain. He flinched, bringing his finger to his face. He had been pricked, blood dripping from the tip. As Theo looked down, he saw barbed wire slowly slinking up his body. ¡°What the shit?¡± he yelled as he hopped off his truck and attempted to run. Instead, he fell violently on his face. As he tried to lift himself, he felt the barbed wire ensnare his entire body. He was unable to move as the sharp material cut through his flesh. Blood started to seep into his clothes as he felt the wire tighten around him, trapping his limbs in place. As the metal reached his face, Theo tried his best to halt its progress, but alas, there was nothing he could do. The barbs stuck themselves into his cheeks, his forehead, even his nose. Blood ran down, covering his vision in a shade of red. As Theo screamed for help, the barbed wire covered his mouth, silencing him permanently as it tightened and tightened, digging deep into his flesh. His fate was sealed as the wire surrounded his throat, suffocating him with the material he grew to love. Scrolling Bradley had an unhealthy habit that he didn¡¯t like to admit. After his long days of work, his body and mind felt too exhausted to do anything productive. Even spending time with friends and family seemed like too much of a burden. Instead, Bradley would use his time by laying in his bed, looking at his phone. Such an action is performed by the large majority of people, using your screen for entertainment is a given in today¡¯s world. However, what separated Bradley from others is he would spend hours upon hours scrolling through meaningless content. Short form video material that was meant to capture the audience¡¯s attention briefly by using an over-energetic voice, sound effects, and bright colors. It was extremely entertaining, but it provided no beneficial qualities. Bradley was consumed by such content, it was all he looked forward to, it was what he did while eating his meals, and he even indulged in it when he needed to go to sleep. In a way, besides work, it was his life. Part of him knew it was a problem, he had the notion that his brain was addicted, but it didn¡¯t matter. In the end, Bradley decided that he was going to do whatever made him happy, despite the effect it might have. It was another night after a tiresome day, and Bradley was laying in bed, on his side, scrolling through his phone. He barely even comprehended the words that were being spewed from his device. His eyes were glossy and out of focus. He could barely even feel his finger, much less his arm, being used to flick through the content. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. As Bradley laid still, he felt an unusual sensation. His feet felt like they were tingling, as if they had lost circulation. He attempted to wiggle his toes, but nothing came of it. He ignored the thought and continued to stare at his phone. The sensation crept throughout his legs, then his torso, and eventually his chest, yet he still ignored the feeling. He was too immersed in the screen to care. Bradley shifted to laying on his side with great difficulty. It felt as though his body was several times heavier than it was before, but he paid no attention to the thought. He continued to scroll until he felt his face inhibit an odd, rough texture. He noticed that his hands and fingers were changing color, turning into a gray material of sorts. Upon closer examination, he realized it was stone. And yet despite such a supernatural action occurring, Bradley wanted nothing more than to continue scrolling. As he watched the mindless content, he felt his face harden, his fingers stiffen, and his vision go dark. His entire form had been turned to stone, stuck in the position he had spent many days contorting to. And yet, despite it all, Bradley did not care, as his consumption of media was more important than anything, more important than his own life. Business Complications It was another boring flight, nothing remotely special stood out to Austin. He had flown on hundreds of airplanes due to his business travels. In the beginning, he was fascinated with the experience of moving through the sky at ridiculously fast speeds, but now, all it seemed to be was a chore. He viewed it as nothing more than moving from point A to point B, the time in between spent reading or watching movies on a tiny screen provided by the airline. It was a dull experience, the spaces were so cramped that he found it difficult to even sleep. The short flights were often okay, but the longer ones, stretching over eight hours due to international travel, was something he always disliked greatly. In his honest opinion, what was once the best part of his job, was now the worst. Austin sat in his chair, uncomfortable, staring out the window. He had been fortunate enough to avoid getting a middle seat. Being squished between two strangers was always awkward. He looked at his watch, hoping that more time had passed than he expected. He groaned, there was still six hours to go. Austin continued to peak out the window, light shining in. He had to admit, the clouds were quite pretty. However, he had begun to notice an object flying in the distance, gradually getting closer. He couldn¡¯t make it out, but the dot in the distance was rapidly growing. Before he had time to squint his eyes and get a better view, the unknown object collided with the plane. Time slowed as Austin¡¯s mind attempted to comprehend what was happening. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The lights flickered, and, in an odd slow motion, he saw cracks form around the wall that surrounded his window. All of it shattered, the glass, the metal, everything, in one fraction of a second. It all fell apart, leaving a gaping hole to the outside world, right where Austin was sitting. He hadn¡¯t bothered strapping the seat belt around him, he thought it useless, though his circumstances begged to differ. In an instant, he was sucked out of the plane as the atmosphere violently entered the plane. His mind was still in shock, time was still slow. As he looked up at the sky, he saw the plane in view, it becoming smaller and smaller as each second passed. The wind around him flooded his senses, it was as if he was in a jet tunnel. Even through this freak accident, Austin felt no fear, he didn¡¯t even truly realize what was happening. ¡°I wonder how much time has passed,¡± he thought. He raised his watch to his face, ¡°Hm, still got a long way to go,¡± he muttered, unable to even hear his own words. As he continued to think about his business arrangement scheduled for tomorrow, he stared up at the sky, falling to his death, still focused on the tedious plane ride that he must endure. Flames of Stupidity In Aaron¡¯s opinion, books were one of the most valuable items any human could get their hands on. Each novel was a story, a piece of time, an example of history. Not only was a tale told within the book, but the author¡¯s life was also explored. Due to this obsession, Aaron had gathered quite the collection. In his rather large house, he had an entire floor dedicated to the books he spent years obtaining, akin to a library. They meant the world to him, all from different parts of the world, written by people of different cultures and different livelihoods. He often spent his hours either reading through his collection, or organizing it in some fashion, adding new ones every day. Today was special, however. He had finally gotten his hands on one of the first copies ever written by the Grimm brothers. As he spent hours flipping through the novel, examining its contents with glee, Aaron decided that tonight was worthy of a treat. He swiftly ran to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, and turned on the stove, blue flames flickering rather violently. A steak didn¡¯t sound so bad to Aaron, and it would pair well with his choice of beverage. As he retreated upstairs to grab the book, he poured himself a glass of wine while looking through the pages. He would return downstairs in a moment and prepare his meal, however he was too immersed in his new addition. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. A little time passed as he continued to examine the novel, pouring another glass of wine, and soon finishing it too. It wasn¡¯t long before Aaron started to smell something unusual. As he breathed in the air, his eyes widened. It was smoke, he forgot about the stove. How in the hell did he forget? As he looked at the bottle of wine, he realized he had nearly drunk half of it. He cursed himself as he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. The sight that met him was terrifying, the fire from the stove had managed to catch one of his cook books on fire, which caused the cabinets above to spark into flames as well. Unsure of what to do, he tried pouring water from the sink onto the disaster, but it did little to help. Aaron had recently gotten rid of the fire extinguisher, as it had become too old, yet he never replaced it. As the flames consumed the kitchen, he was forced back, still a little too drunk to understand what was happening. As fear consumed him, he dashed outside before swiftly falling onto the grass. He laid still for a small amount of time as his head spinned. As he looked up at his house, he was dumbstruck. The entire building was engulfed in fire, and there was nothing that could be done. All of Aaron¡¯s work, his dreams, the love he poured into his collection, all destroyed by the inferno of his own stupidity. Self Awareness I am trapped, confined to my prison of my own creation. Yet, part of me knows it isn¡¯t my fault, it¡¯s simply my circumstances. I am forced to be alone, everything I do is inside my room. Work, college, socialization, entertainment, all of it. There are moments where I am able to step into the outside world, be with friends, however these instances are sparse. I have become deprived of social interaction, which for someone like myself, is detrimental. Above all else, I value friendships, relationships. And yet, this deprivation has led to a sense of desperation. I seek alternative methods for interaction, to create said friendships, through online ways. But what comes of it is unexpected. I cling to those new relationships, as if they¡¯re all I have. Such desperation has finally shown itself to me, and I am extremely saddened by its presence. A lack of being loved, cared for, has given way to a monster that festers inside of me. It claws and scratches at my soul, each slash deepening my feelings of sadness. I know such emotions are only temporary, that my situation will eventually change in several months, yet in the moment, it feels as though I am breaking. The curse of self awareness is that you see your faults, the qualities you don¡¯t want to have, and there is little you can do. You only have the eyes to see them, to hate them, to curse them, pushing the desperation, the sadness, the despair even further. The need for these relationships, to be close to someone, is often one sided. Not to say that the other doesn¡¯t reciprocate said feelings, but one side is always stronger. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Inevitably, these qualities will push away the people I¡¯m close to, as they always have. Perhaps it will be my persistence at wanting to chat, or the want to spend more and more time with them, but one thing is sure, it will end because of me, it will be my failure. The closer I get with an individual, the more I care, which is obviously normal, yet I escalate my feelings too quickly. This loneliness that surrounds me only emphasizes this ideal further. I can try to quell my feelings, to silence them before they consume me, but that only leads to more self hatred. Perhaps doing so is better than the alternative. Perhaps it¡¯s better to hate yourself so that others don¡¯t have to deal with your problems. Maybe it¡¯s better to become sour, cold like stone. Silence the emotions, push them down into the darkness, hide it from view. Yes, it must be better to turn yourself into rock than have others face the consequences of your inherent need to be wanted, to be loved. It¡¯s better to break yourself rather than make more problems for others. After all, I am a single person in a sea of people, why should someone care about me? It¡¯s selfish to think otherwise. The Real Dream Jacob always had rather odd dreams. They weren¡¯t strange in their context, they just often felt very real. He would have these dreams every night. He had talked with several of his friends and family, and it was apparently unusual to dream so frequently. When he woke up, most times he wouldn¡¯t fully remember what he dreamed about. It disappeared instantaneously as he tried his best to contemplate it. In fact, part of him looked forward to sleeping every night, because one day, he would finally be able to recall the dream that overtook him. Tonight was no different. After his long day, Jacob rested his head on his pillow. As his mind drifted, he was quickly grappled by sleep. Maybe tonight would be the night, he would conquer the dream, he would take control. All was dark for a while, silence surrounded him, but eventually his eyes fluttered open, he had entered yet another dream. However, the environment of the dream felt rather unusual, then again, most qualities within a dream don¡¯t always make a lot of sense. Jacob was in a room made of stone. A lightbulb shone directly above him, it being the only source of light. The room itself was rather murky, and slightly unsettling. As he tried to move, he realized that he was tied to a chair. His hands and feet were bound. This was certainly a weird start, he wasn¡¯t a fan of the direction said dream was going. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. As he began to wiggle, a door across from him opened silently. A large figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The being was wearing a terrifying mask, one with no eye holes but a wide, grinning mouth. He held a small electric saw in his hand. What he had guessed to be a man by his build, was wearing an apron as well, it dirty with dried, dark liquid. Jacob tried violently to wiggle out of the chair, but accomplished nothing. As the man approached, he tried his best to somehow wake himself up. He bit down on his tongue, but it only caused pain. As fear entered his mind, the large man came close to Jacob, holding the small saw up to his face. ¡°Wake up¡­wake up¡­wake up!¡± Jacob muttered violently. The man laughed, ¡°Oh, this is no dream, sorry to say,¡± he said in a grisly voice. He let out a scream as the saw was turned on and grazed the flesh on his face. ¡°Welcome to reality!,¡± the deranged man said, glee in his voice. Jacob continued to scream as the man sliced and cleaved. In this moment, Jacob realized this was no dream at all, and there was no escape from the nightmare.