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The light shining down on her face, marking the trails of the tears that ran so beautifully down. Her body was curled into a tight ball,as she looked into the moon's silver light. The wind whispered haunting songs about sadness, a mist that slowly enveloped her tiny body. Shaking hands smoothed her hair back, her shaking hands covered in blood. Nothing made sense, under the moon's silver shadow.
Screams filled her ears, metal screams of horrific pain. A scream unlike any other made her scream back, the tears coming out again. Door slammed. Her hands were violently shaking now.
There was no more screaming. Before hope could fill her body, make the pain go away, the sinner came in her room. His eyes were dark, no emotion of a normal human in them. Cold as her skin, cold as the tears that flowed down her cheeks, cold as the night, cold as the wind's whispers. Cold.
"Your mother's dead, you little bitch."
Door slammed again. Hope gone, a little whisper again. The moon's shadowed sliver light turned black in the room. She grabbed her bags, a few clothes, and a picture of her mother. In the moon's silver light, she climbs out of the window, finding the soft ground. She can't take it anymore, looking at the blood on her hands. Her wrists are decorated in the dark blood. The scent reaches her nose and she retches in the grass. Wiping her mouth, she takes her jacket, puts it over her, before falling to the ground in silent sobs that she didn't dare to leash till the sun's glow could warm her skin. Whispering winds filled her mind, but they taunted her with words she didn't want to believe.
"Your mother's dead, you little bitch."
The dried blood was visible on her jacket in the morning. Her hair was a mess. She silent curses under her morning breath. Looking at her surroundings, she notices the house she use to live in standing tall above her. Her phone is dead, and she walks away, letting last nights tears fall swiftly down her face. The dried blood is a solid reminder of her past.
At the bus stop, she pulls out a sheet of paper, and begins to write a song.
"Your mother's dead, you told me.
But your daughters dead too.
She's in the bus stop,
crying silently.
Her mind is replaying last night
She remembers the screams,
of her and mother,
she hears the closing door.
And looks into her killer's eyes.
As he says
'Your mother's dead'"
I just listened to I Believe, I Don't Do Sadness and Mirror-Blue Night. I'm sure you can guess which parts of which part were written in this time period:) It's really angsty, and I'm sorry for that.
Screams filled her ears, metal screams of horrific pain. A scream unlike any other made her scream back, the tears coming out again. Door slammed. Her hands were violently shaking now.
There was no more screaming. Before hope could fill her body, make the pain go away, the sinner came in her room. His eyes were dark, no emotion of a normal human in them. Cold as her skin, cold as the tears that flowed down her cheeks, cold as the night, cold as the wind's whispers. Cold.
"Your mother's dead, you little bitch."
Door slammed again. Hope gone, a little whisper again. The moon's shadowed sliver light turned black in the room. She grabbed her bags, a few clothes, and a picture of her mother. In the moon's silver light, she climbs out of the window, finding the soft ground. She can't take it anymore, looking at the blood on her hands. Her wrists are decorated in the dark blood. The scent reaches her nose and she retches in the grass. Wiping her mouth, she takes her jacket, puts it over her, before falling to the ground in silent sobs that she didn't dare to leash till the sun's glow could warm her skin. Whispering winds filled her mind, but they taunted her with words she didn't want to believe.
"Your mother's dead, you little bitch."
The dried blood was visible on her jacket in the morning. Her hair was a mess. She silent curses under her morning breath. Looking at her surroundings, she notices the house she use to live in standing tall above her. Her phone is dead, and she walks away, letting last nights tears fall swiftly down her face. The dried blood is a solid reminder of her past.
At the bus stop, she pulls out a sheet of paper, and begins to write a song.
"Your mother's dead, you told me.
But your daughters dead too.
She's in the bus stop,
crying silently.
Her mind is replaying last night
She remembers the screams,
of her and mother,
she hears the closing door.
And looks into her killer's eyes.
As he says
'Your mother's dead'"
I just listened to I Believe, I Don't Do Sadness and Mirror-Blue Night. I'm sure you can guess which parts of which part were written in this time period:) It's really angsty, and I'm sorry for that.
