But the thing she hated most of all, it was silence. It made her want to scream. Want to claw at her ears. In her nightmares. It was the buzzing sound of silence, and in the silence there was darkness; but in that darkness and silence there were screams of terror and agony, with bloodshot eyes all staring back at her with the lust. The lust to rip her flesh off her bones. The monsters, all silent and taunting her. Only her , only she was stuck with the terrible silence and darkness because to everyone else...she was insane.
YOU ARE READING
Tacenda
RandomTacenda: meaning better left unsaid. This is a odd book of my odd fourth grade level writing that would be better left unsaid. Like a journal of sorts, but its here. On watt pad for you to read.
