You walk through the forest. All alone. Or so you thought. You hear the bushes move, and know that you're not alone. You start running, faster, faster, and even faster. You see no one around you. You decide to walk to your small cottage in the middle of the woods. You see that your door is open. You walk up closer and walk inside. You see muddy footprints on the floor. You follow them, into your bedroom. You walk into your bedroom, and see a dark figure standing in the corner of the room. They turn, revealing their face.
They are a light-skin man with a short beard. They walk closer to you. You pull out you knife and stab them in the chest. You drag them by their feet to your dark, deserted kitchen. You grab your knife once again and chop them up—into tiny pieces—and think to yourself.
Finally. I got some dinner. Now I won't be so hungry anymore.
YOU ARE READING
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Short Story--b⃟e⃟w⃟a⃟r⃟e⃟-- αʆʆ σƒ ϯհεςε ςϯσɾίες αɾε σɾίɡίηαʆ. ίƒ α ςϯσɾψ ίς ησϯ ʍίηε, ί ϖίʆʆ ςαψ ςσ ɓεƒσɾε
