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Literature Text
For being a basement, it finally started to feel like home, Ryan thought to himself. He had spent the last two years of his life becoming an artist, while he was kept in the darkness in the bowels of his captor's house.
He wasn't alone. Lorena was about his age, sixteen, but she was still far from trying to make the best of the situation. Ryan didn't blame her.
There were a few positives to living like this and Ryan tried to take advantage with what he had. The basement he was kept in was much bigger than his old room and, more importantly, he was surrounded by all the art supplies he needed. He was currently painting the farthest wall from the stairs into a beautiful blue sky when Lorena returned with Uncle John. It was his best piece of work - his masterpiece.
The locks clicked one by one - there were a total of seven. One light lit the room - it hung, and it swayed. Ryan always became blinded when the door opened, but through that blinding light he could see Lorena's return. She was escorted in and brought to her cage. Uncle John kept all his captives in cages. He only trusted Ryan. Ryan was the only child that had more privileges.
Ryan continued to paint as Uncle John made his way to the wall. "Wow . . . Ryan you have outdone yourself again," Uncle John said as he stared at the wall. "Did you need anymore supplies?" he asked.
"Sir, I am fine. Thank you," Ryan spoke sullenly to his captor.
"Well . . . good work," Uncle John said. Uncle John stared at it for at least a whole minute before he walked back up the steps and out the door. Seven clicks followed.
Lorena moved to her cot and wrapped herself in her blanket. She didn't know that she would probably be dead soon.
He wasn't alone. Lorena was about his age, sixteen, but she was still far from trying to make the best of the situation. Ryan didn't blame her.
There were a few positives to living like this and Ryan tried to take advantage with what he had. The basement he was kept in was much bigger than his old room and, more importantly, he was surrounded by all the art supplies he needed. He was currently painting the farthest wall from the stairs into a beautiful blue sky when Lorena returned with Uncle John. It was his best piece of work - his masterpiece.
The locks clicked one by one - there were a total of seven. One light lit the room - it hung, and it swayed. Ryan always became blinded when the door opened, but through that blinding light he could see Lorena's return. She was escorted in and brought to her cage. Uncle John kept all his captives in cages. He only trusted Ryan. Ryan was the only child that had more privileges.
Ryan continued to paint as Uncle John made his way to the wall. "Wow . . . Ryan you have outdone yourself again," Uncle John said as he stared at the wall. "Did you need anymore supplies?" he asked.
"Sir, I am fine. Thank you," Ryan spoke sullenly to his captor.
"Well . . . good work," Uncle John said. Uncle John stared at it for at least a whole minute before he walked back up the steps and out the door. Seven clicks followed.
Lorena moved to her cot and wrapped herself in her blanket. She didn't know that she would probably be dead soon.
Literature
perish.
Recollect the thoughts
for the paralyzed minds lost
to the imagined dilemmas
given by the hands from the devil.
though i get lonely
s l o w l y .
make no sound
lie awake sleeping
quietly loud while
the rest are nosily silent
imagined dangers creep
but its all an illusion
distorted reality is all
as the world spins
or perhaps the world
was left in the dark, to decay
rot in its own despair
darkness
cannot
exist
without
the
absence
of
light.
I'd like to set the world
ablaze, to perish in its
futile flames forever.
maybe then, there will
light to illuminate the
crimes gone unnoticed.
☺☻☺
Literature
The Body's Play
'I exist, I am Atlas, I exist, I am Atlas,' Sighs the old man's heart, as she pushes his heavy blood through his arteries and down his veins, 'I exist, I am Atlas.' If she stopped pushing, he would die.
'We protect, we are strong, we protect, we are strong,' Growl his aged skin cells, tied in unison, 'We protect, we are strong.' If they stopped holding, he would disintegrate.
'I am weak, but I'm still here, I am weak, but I'm still here,' Cries the muscle through the noise of the body's song, 'I am weak, but I'm still here.' He is old and stringy now, but once he'd been strong enough to propel the body through the sea and run along
Literature
100. Death
Don't be afraid... I will protect you... forever...
" LIES! Shut up, SHUT UP! "
Calm down hun... I am here.. I am here...
" But you are dead. "
Come with me..
" How? How can I?! "
Take the knife, hun. Kill yourself. Then you are with me... again.
" I will hun... I will. "
His tears and blood covered him as he took his last breath.
Suggested Collections
Pieces, not chapters. Little delectable pieces for you to digest in the following months - every Sunday.
Next piece: [link]
"Mushrooms are feed shit and kept in the dark. Ryan was one of these mushrooms." -L. Vera excerpt from Mushrooms
So, I've been busy. I'm writing two novels and "The Horror Suicide Show" is being published by Trestle Press. So expect it to be on Amazon and Kindle in the following months.
Also check me out on twitter. @LVeraWrites [link]
Mention me, follow me, just don't molest me.
Next piece: [link]
"Mushrooms are feed shit and kept in the dark. Ryan was one of these mushrooms." -L. Vera excerpt from Mushrooms
So, I've been busy. I'm writing two novels and "The Horror Suicide Show" is being published by Trestle Press. So expect it to be on Amazon and Kindle in the following months.
Also check me out on twitter. @LVeraWrites [link]
Mention me, follow me, just don't molest me.
Comments210
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I've just finished the whole thing... Wow. Very powerful. I love this.