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A ghost town left to rot alongside it's people.
𝐓𝐰; 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 781
Crimson drips from the rusted necklace like muddy rainwater, yet the girl holding it close doesn't seem to mind. It stains her hands, but thankfully it's the dead of summer so she's wearing a short sleeved shirt. It would be such a hassle to get blood out of her clothes again. The sky in the far distance is dark and empty, stars long since dimmed and clouds all too late.
It's cold. So, so cold.
Why is it cold? It's not supposed to...right?
The world is spinning, the ground is shaking and the sky is falling.
Or at least, for Ayame it is.
"I just... It was an accident! You know she didn't mean it! She hasn't left her room in a week now and she won't eat... I'm sorry, but..."
She? Who's she?
Freshly picked lillies on a grave lie as still as those burried beneath.
The trees where always tall, but now it seems almost as if they grew a few feet taller. Even the shadows walking along the stream whisper louder than before.
Fog rolls in like a silent wave, the kids playing in their back yard don't seem to notice. Or maybe they did and they just don't care.
The same mistake everyone used to make.
Ayame decided to leave them alone, she knew that if she got closer she wouldn't like what she saw. Learned that the hard way, unfortunately.
Small towns are so fascinating.
The clock is stuck at 03:31. It's been like that for a long time now. So much so, that she struggled to recall the last time it showed her the correct time.
Was it A.M or P.M? Does it even matter? I think it does but...maybe I'm wrong.
"The world is tinted, the sky is dark and the stars don't seem to shine anymore" She says while the blood drips down her arm like a soft lullaby.
The sun rises slower today, a lightless dawn like all the others that came before it.
"Sad, isn't it?"
It is? My, how odd. I seem to have forgotten what you said to me that day.
"It was something about a dream, I'm sure."
Perhaps. Maybe it was just my imagination. After all, bad things happen to those that don't appreciate their luck. And once the crows start following, it's all over.
A scarecrow sits alone amongst tall fields of corn bathed golden by the fading sunlight. A few crows perched on it's outstretched arms, whispering words for no one to hear but the empty roads below.
The sun sets and yet another day flickers and dies before her eyes. The sky is beautiful tonight.
It always was.
It always will be.
She passes the old scarecrow on her way back home everyday, yet it seems to grow lonelier and lonelier everytime she looks. Maybe she should stop looking. Yeah, that would be for the best.
Her footprints left behind a stain, as if she had been walking through mud. She had to make sure she wiped her shoes on the mat so she wouldn't dirty the house, otherwise her mother might get angry.
So many houses are falling apart in her neighborhood, walking past them she wonders why no one lives in them anymore.
The accident.
A mess of pale pink hair peaks from the broken window, the glass shards that once posed a threat no longer as sharp below her fingers. She frowned at the state the house was in, memories of growing up in those dusty halls all too bittersweet.
A single tear fell as her eyes fell to the torn carpet. It was her grandma's favourite. And now, it was reduced to a state she wouldn't wish to see. Furniture was torn to shreads, the pretty wallpaper was peeling off and the floors where coated with a thick layer of untouched dust.
Ah, are those the grainy Polaroids she took all those years ago?
Wait...years? No, it's been a few months. You don't know what you're talking about.
The sharp pain in her fingers pulls her back from the brink of madness. She quickly lets go of the windowsill, yet it's a tad too late. With a deep sigh she begins to pick the glass shards from her fingertips, thoughts rushing with what she refused to admit.
The glass wasn't sharp.
It wasn't the glass.
Her hometown was left abandoned, a shell of what it once was. The ghosts roam around, yet her delusional mind keeps her in a state of denial.
