Marley Was Dead.

August 23, 2017

The first sentence marked in bold was taken from Location 3 of 22 of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. The rest? My imagination running wild. This is part 1.


Marley was dead. 


No breathing. No blinking. No sign of life in sight.


I searched for the familiar feeling of wet tears streaming down my face only to wipe dirt across my face.


I blinked quickly in an attempt to force myself to feel.


I dug my fingers into the ground so hard that I felt little rocks rooting themselves underneath the nails.


Yet, as I stood over Marley, a ghostly sense set in.


An internal panic that someone was watching me.


And they were.


I turned around to find my mother wrapped tightly in her robe, staring at me with a raised eyebrow.


Maybe she couldn’t see Marley well enough because it was dark out, maybe it was all going to be okay.


I ran towards her, hoping she’d take me in her arms and tell me everything was alright, only to be shoved to the ground with a rapid thud.


I slowly stood and planted my feet firmly on the soft, dampened soil, ready to face her.


But when our eyes met, my legs began to move, and suddenly I was sprinting faster than I could catch my breath.


I ran so hard that I could feel the strings of muscles in my legs tearing one by one.


Sweat dripped from my arms while gravity pulled it downwards.


My ears were throbbing so hard that I could hear and feel each sweat droplet hit the dirt.


Branches scratched at my legs and I knew I was bleeding but I didn’t care.


Because I couldn’t care.

Please reload

November 28, 2018

July 24, 2018

July 2, 2018

May 21, 2018

May 8, 2018

Please reload