I would put them under supernatural, but I don’t want to offend anyone. Specifically the demons. I don’t want to offend the demons.
There are only two things worth knowing about hell: you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t deserve it, and you …
My family has a secret. It isn’t the mundane type of secret either: Dad isn’t hiding any affairs, Mom doesn’t drink herself to sleep, and my sister doesn’t sneak boys or drugs up to her room. They do, however, all have their own demons, and they keep them hidden from the rest of the world.
“Time of death: 10:27 AM.”
Doctor Francis turned his back on the exhausted mother, the tiny body shielded in his arms.
Mr. Granger has never considered himself to be a spiritual man. Religious though? Why not? All you need to be religious is a keen fear of death, and Mr. Granger was no stranger to the indomitable clock which seemed to accelerate through the years. His prayers remained nothing but monologues however; no brooding midnight yet had been so still, nor first snow so pure, as to give his mind a window to his soul.
Me and the guys were doing a sweep of an old oil refinery when I found the eggs. I guess they liked the heat because they were all clustered right around the fractal distillation chamber, which gets up past 720 Fahrenheit when the crude oil is being heated up. The whole building was scheduled for demolition though, and it was our job to make sure the place was cleaned out.
GORE WARNING
Repeat after me:
I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I CANNOT tell lies. Or else.
Slow is the smolder of fire igniting in flesh. The skin cracks and dries and powders to ash, incinerating extremities long before flame penetrates to vital systems. The eyes will boil from the skull and cartilage will melt and run like wax. The insulated brain will be protected all the while, still cognizant of the excruciating agony. Bones will splinter next, molten marrow liquefying like hot lead before exploding in shrapnel to puncture the insides.
You can feel Missy enter a room before you see her. The ambient sounds of the college classroom dissolve when she speaks, all the racuous shouting and laughter falling muffled beside the soft melody of her voice. She wears light and shadow with equal grace, every angle making her appear as though she were posing for the painter’s canvas. From the depth of her eyes to the supple curve of her body, Missy was a walking captivation. She was a dream, and I her dreamer, but it was all too soon that I had to wake.
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Those of us who survive what happens behind closed doors don’t talk about it much more than those who didn’t.