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.
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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