I fear that I have done a terrible thing. There's so much blood on my hands, on the walls. Madison isn't recognizable. Her skull is destroyed, her limbs seperated from her body and skin cut off into strips. Those god damn flashes of memory is all I have. Moments of seeing a masked man, several of them, and screams. So many screams, I think some of them are my own. I don't know what I've done. What my love has made me do. I write this as I sit in the snow of the nearby woods, the only sounds are of my breathing. Where are the birds? There's normally so many in this area?
It was moments after writing that last question that the tendrils came back, that they held me tightly, but they didn't burn this time. I barely felt them through the cold. I saw figures through the black, watching me menacingly. I was afraid. For one of the first times in a long time, I was afraid. And I prayed that this time the darkness would kill me.
YOU ARE READING
Proxy
Короткий рассказIt started with a journal, a small, stupid journal. And now it seems the world is crashing down on me. And all I have to prove myself, to show people I exist, is that book. And now that you are reading my story, I pray to God you don't share the sam...
