Love Never Dies ch 1October 30Love Never Dies ch 1 by horror-lover
I get woken up by Mom calling for my younger sister Lucy. I look over at my alarm clock. It's glowing digital blu numbers read 3:03 a.m. I get up from my bed, rubbing my eyes, and go out into the hall where I see Mom run out of Lucy's room, which is right next to mine.
"What's wrong with Lucy?" I ask.
"She's not in her bed!" she answers frantically, "I don't know where she is!"
I look inside Lucy's room. The blue sheets are dragged across the floor from the mattress. I rush to the window that overlooks the backyard. There I see Lucy, slowly walking towards the trees of the forest.
I run down the hallway to the top of the stairs and yell down to Mom, who's already dialing the phone, "Mom, I found Lucy!"
"Oh thank Godd," she sighs as she slams the phone back on the receiver, "Where is she?"
"She's outside," I answer quickly as I rush down the stairs, slip on a jacket, and go out the front door, "I'll get her."
"Mina!" My mother yells out to me, but I ignore
Unseen BeautyHow can I describe the joyUnseen Beauty by ithaswhatitisnt
That crawls up my spine and
Ignites in my brain when I see
The most beautiful creature ever
Do not think so, but then again,
Have never seen yourself clearly.
When a self-image is viewed,
See only despair, disgust, demon,
An object, a thing, to be destroyed.
When I gaze upon the same visage,
I see hope, radiance, seraphim,
More of a man than most men ever are,
A person to be celebrated and loved.
Choose to ignore the God-given gift
That has been bestowed upon the chosen
A gift that normalities may never possess
But all I can focus on is that gift,
On shaping my own variation and knowing
That my gift can never be as fine-tuned as yours.
Believe that no one could ever love someone like
Yourself, that a monster has no real chance at
Happiness and love.
I disagree. If
Would only look beyond the outward appearance
And concentrate on the inner contents,
Would discover how many women consider themselves
Quiet Few people would believe their eyes if they saw Mark Hoffman, one of the police department's finest detectives, sitting in his apartment, surrounded by empty beer cans. Sometimes he couldn't even believe it himself. In all honesty, it was pitiful. Someone like him having been reduced to drinking the nights away. Drinking to forget everything that had become of his life. Could he even call what he was going through to be a 'life'? In a 'life', weren't you supposed to actually make something of it? Do some good for the world and for yourself? Yet, here he was, drinking to numb himself and helping the Jigsaw Killer on his sick mission of trying to 'help' people. Sure, he was a cop too, but what was the point of being one when you just went behind the system's back to help a murderer? How could anyone call that a life?Quiet by tigerlily6543
It had all started after Angelina had been killed by that bastard excuse of a human. Seth Baxter. Even the though
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