Portals hum in the purple sky. The invaders hate light.
Without the grid, streetlamps are spent matchsticks. Shadows descend and swallow. What will I do with nothing to burn? I thought I knew darkness before the great rifts extinguished the blinking 12:00.
The last orange flame wheezes.
Run.
Words, images & collages tossed from a window.
writing, traveling, and tap dancing around town.
Leave your fear of the dark at the door, suspend your disbelief, and come on in...
Writer and procrastinator
authors inspirations
Warden of Words // Shaper of Stories
Bewitching Journey of Words to Meaning
This is the story of building a cottage , the people and the place. Its a reminder of hope and love.
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV
Pen to paper
I loved “streetlamps are spent matchsticks.” Great ending!
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π I enjoyed writing this one. That line in particular.
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The sense of creepiness and dread is really well done here. The ending is great.
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I appreciate it. I do love to give people the creeps.
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“Streetlamps are spent matchsticks” is brilliant – I want to steal it. (I won’t. π ) This has an almost Lovecraftian fear of the unknown thing going on. Very cool.
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High praise. Thank you π
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