Samantha's Soul

Once upon a herd, two lambs grazed. One younger, both innocent, unscathed. The Shepard watches carefully over his flock, Having to keep the two lambs apart.   The older scorns and kicks the younger, Mocks and punches taints her plunder. Then the elder runs off to die, Guilt eating away along with the monster inside.    The mother pulls her back, yet fighting remains,  There is no peace to this very day. The younger tries to walk by the Shepard,  While the elder begs her to run.   The younger is safe there, the elder with wolves, The mother behind the younger,  Between the two little fighting foals,  The Shepard watches the eldest run.   You were a lamb with such perfect wool, Nobody could see the boils on your soul, The festering sores under your skin, Creeping deeper until the pain snuck in.   You were an innocent child I thought I could trust.  You were a peaceful person I thought was just. You were older, wiser, you supposedly knew more, And ye...

      "The days feel like a blur at this point. I mean, they have for years, but even more so now. Father hasn't been home in weeks per usual, and the house has been very quiet. The worst accident of all happened yesterday. Maria tried to steal you, my beloved journal and she is now in the hospital. I don't know how weak that ceiling tile had to be to fall on her at just that moment, but it must have been. It cracked right over her skull! I hope she's okay, but at least I have this to keep me company. I wonder though, am I not as alone as I think? I saw the man's reflection in my window again. He's been here the whole time. Maybe that's the warmth I feel, that mysterious stranger that invades all the reflective spaces. Unless I'm just so lonely I'm hallucinating. That's always a possibility. Then again, an invisible man is just as good of an explanation as anything else I can think of-"      The bell rings overhead, startling her into shovi...

  “Death. What a word. Five letters that hold so much bitter-sweet anguish. People don't think about it enough I think. Today in Language Arts we finished that book about an old dog that dies right before its owner gets home. The book for once, did not shy away from pondering death. The author gave an interesting angle I haven't considered before; how death ends suffering. In that way, it almost feels merciful. But is it? I mean, in the afterlife there could be anything. No one knows for sure what comes after we no longer breathe. Is it torment, is it bliss, or is it simply lonely? Those seem to be the only optional possibilities. You either burn for your slights, are rewarded for your good deeds, or roam the earth, forever separated from the kind you once called your own. That last one feels the worst out of all of them... But am I already a ghost? A bad luck spirit perhaps? This separation continues to plague me, yet I don't feel alone. It's almost like I'm cau...

   The sounds of the rushing nurses filled the sterile white hospital room as Doctors attended to the laboring mother, urging her to hold on a little longer. She looks sickly, her skin pale and her body a little too thin everywhere but her belly, fighting as she weakly grips her husband's hand with every push. In the shadows across the room stands a looming figure they can't see, Death. He watches helplessly as he waits, fingering his billowing cloak anxiously and gripping his towering scythe a little tighter.      "This has to be the worst part of the job." He thinks, his expression mournful as he watches the hustle.      A cheer erupts as the fragile child's cries fill the room, but it is quickly replaced with shouts of fear as the mother's smile starts to drift away, her eyes slipping closed as the husband shouts for her to fight to stay. The nurses and doctors rushed around for a minute, attempting to revive her with desperate shouts. He watches ...

            “Tell me, why do you fear the stars?”              A small chuckle escaped her lips as she stared at the night sky, her face torn between awe and anxiety. “There are more stars in the sky than grains of sand on the earth, infinite more chances for planets, the existence of a race more dangerous and destructive than the ones we rule over.” Her gaze turned towards the mass of blue and green, a rock covered in humans, the most horrible creatures. “I don’t want there to be more.” “I see. But we created this universe, surely we know what’s out there.” he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Her response was another small chuckle, more hollow than the first.  “We created but a mere small fraction of it with good intentions, and look where it got us. A hot mess. Being a God doesn't guarantee good intentions, nor perfection.”  He let out a thoughtful hum. “I too, fear the stars.” A girl was lyin...

       Nick sighed as he stared down the hallway. White walls. Baren, empty walls, the pristine paneling only interrupted by white doors every twenty feet or so. The fluorescent lights seemed to bounce off the musk, yellowing carpet. It made the air feel stale. It reeked of smoke and the smell of a fresh box of latex gloves. Everything was silent except for Nick's deep breaths. He was a man of standard stature with short brown hair that matched his eyes. His expression was sad as his gaze wandered for a moment, then landed again on the file in his hand.       “VERITY”      The bold black letters stamped on the front of the folder were almost ominous. He opened it slowly, revealing only a small packet of paper stapled together neatly. It didn't have much information on it either. Name: Verity. Creature: Batomous. Age: Unknown. Gender: Female. That was all he really cared about that it had to offer. The rest was all filing nonsense an...

       This world is cruel, twisted, mad. This earth is a hellscape in disguise, a place of torment for the weak nature of mankind. It takes all you hold dear, bends you backward until you break, and expects you not to complain. It leaves you to fend for yourself in a world that would crush you with little care for your existence, your soul, your being.       Not many people truly survive it without being broken. Many simply escape.       But what about my escape? What about my sanity? Why do we have to suffer? I may never know, but I can at least escape while I still have the chance.  This bed is too soft and far too comfortable to leave its warm embrace. The alarm says otherwise. Sam's mind swam as she sat up, the alarm clock receiving a hard smack as a good morning greeting. The covers make an impressive swoosh as she throws them off, her polka-dot socks rub against the carpet with a static zap, causing a shiver to run ...