Monster's Eyes

I couldn't pick one so I wrote 3 really short stories instead

Through the Cadaver’s Eyes

It’s weird being conscious of the fact there’s no saving you. I lay on the cold, wet, forest floor. My chest moves slowly up and down, my heart beats faintly as my blood mixes with the mud and rain. I can’t remember how I got here. I can’t remember the face of who did this to me. I just know I didn’t know him. I hadn’t met him before. So what was the point? What’s the point in killing someone you don’t even know? Someone who hasn’t done anything to you. A random innocent person. Was it target practice? Or just a twisted hobby? I’m not entirely sure I care anymore. I can’t ask any of these questions. I can’t call for help. I can’t give the police even a vague description. I’m useless.

I want to run. I want to get out of here as fast as I can but I feel as though I’ve been nailed to the ground. I swear I could move before. I need to do something more. I spent my life doing nothing but surviving. I suppose that’s not a life worth living anyway. My chest isn’t moving anymore. I’m still here! I want to scream it. As if to prove it to someone other than myself. I am alive. Aren’t I? Am I still on this plane or am I simply a ghost refusing to accept the truth? Denial is a horrible thing to feel. Is it possible to grieve yourself? A life you never got? Maybe that’s selfish. Narcissistic. But I don’t have anyone else to grieve me so why not grieve myself? I wish I had people. Friends. Family. I was going to make some. I need more time to make some. I need time.

Time. Time is a thing with wings. I had hoped to catch it and chop them off. If only to give myself that much more. I suppose that didn’t go as planned. I’m not ready and yet I’m still dying. But aren’t we all? Dying… no no. I’m not dying anymore, am I? Dead. That’s what I am. Acceptance is the next stage yeah? I think I skipped a few. Oh well. I don’t think I have much more time to feel anyway. I think I hear footsteps. Are they human or predator? Perhaps they’re the same. I suppose humans are the real predators. Apex. The top of the food chain. They are the reason I lay here. The reason my eyes are dry. The reason bits of me are being taken. The reason the larvae have a home. The reason the crows eat. It’s almost beautiful. Death. I give myself to the earth beneath my feet. I just wish it could have been my choice. I think I deserve that much. I at least wish I could’ve said goodbye. But who would I have said that too? The graves. Maybe I should be saying hello. Maybe I should thank the man that brought me here. Perhaps I should just shut up. Wait for the reaper to come. Enjoy the walk to whatever comes next. I wish someone had given a straight answer about what that is.

Witch in the Woods

I’ve never been particularly social. Okay, that’s an understatement. I avoid people like the plague. Or worse. I become a stuttering mess whenever someone tries to talk to me and I leave every social interaction struggling to breathe. Talking to people feels like drowning to me. I know that sounds dramatic, but no words describe how terrified I get. This is why I chose to move to the middle of nowhere. No neighbors. No people. No problems. I work from home. I get groceries delivered to me. I don’t deal with the panic anymore. This has resulted in some rather mean rumors though. My favorite is that I’m a terrifying witch who kidnaps and eats little children. People don’t walk by my yard anymore, they run. I find it interesting how much judgment people can hold for someone they’ve never spoken to. It’s honestly sad.

I do enjoy my title of witch though. I suppose I mostly am just not the kind you read about in fairytales. I’m not some old hunched-over woman who tricks children into her oven and eats them or kidnaps princesses to stay young or whatever, I’m just a young woman who likes plants and animals. I do spells sure but they’re for luck and love not revenge. I just like crystals and believe in horoscopes. I know that’s weird but it’s better than kidnapping and killing kids so. I think most people here witch and picture the evil queen from Snow White but if anything I look and live more like Cinderella.

To put it plainly: yes I am a witch, no you don’t have to fear me, no this does not mean you can knock on my door to show the error of your ways. This is not a fairytale. This is not a Disney movie. This is my life and I prefer to live it alone. Sorry, did this story bore you? Good.

The Last Dance

I thought the night had been going so well. I really thought he cared about me and yet here I am. People are still dancing. Still smiling and laughing and drinking as if I was never there to begin with. People are cruel. No one seems to notice that I went missing, not even my own parents. That or they simply don’t care. Either one wouldn’t surprise me. I float around the dance floor, searching. I search and search until I find him again. The man who killed me. My husband. Never trust the love interest. Either everyone else is blind or his guilt is so strong that he can see more because I float in front of him he stumbled back in shock.

I try to speak but it only comes out a long scream. I can feel the blood run from my mouth to the floor but I don’t see it fall. He screams like a child and runs as people stare. I chase him if only to embarrass him the way he has embarrassed me. He stops suddenly and begins to apologize and beg for his life as I had begged for mine. I can still hear the quiet violin in the distance, a soundtrack for betrayal. I take his hand and smile, as does he. We begin to spin, we dance in glorious hatred. I can tell neither of us love the other but for a moment it’s nice to pretend. I can feel the life leave him as we move. His eyes glaze over and soon he collapses to the floor. My skin feels warm once more as his spirit is dragged to Hell.