I tried to ignore the fleeting eyes, no more than a second. Fear in their eyes as they looked on. I was notorious in my small little town, yet nobody knew who I was. My looks succeeded anyone's expectations they had of me. Call me as you will as I have many names. Your friendly neighbor down the street, your classmate at school or the sweet barista who makes muffins for the town. But none as the most known The Withering Red Rose. The meaning like it's name a person who is full of life like a vibrant rose than that once vibrant rose is now withering away petal after petal. Slowly dying till that last petal drops, heartbeat decreasing. Laying in a mass of blood, the only sign showing that there was once life in that withered rose.
YOU ARE READING
My One Horror
HorreurThis will be a collection of all of my short horror stories that I like to write ✨Currently in the process of editing stories
