Scars { ashton irwin }
- Reads 6,559
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- Parts 10
Ongoing28m
Last published Mon, Dec 29, 2014
I once knew a boy who liked to draw beautiful pictures that nobody saw he drew by himself alone at night locked in his bedroom out of sight the pictures were strange they came with a twist his pen was a razor his canvas, a wrist we lay out at night watching the stars when he lifted his sleeve and showed me his scars I wasn't shocked I knew what to do so I rolled up my sleeve and said "I draw too"
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#38
sydney
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Something didn't feel right. I looked around my room slowly; cautiously; taking everything in and trying not to feel too nervous. Perhaps Lure was in my room right now, watching me, silently laughing to himself. I didn't doubt it. I slipped off my bed and walked around, hugging my waist, and tilted my head. I felt my rough ponytail slide against the back of my neck and over my shoulder as I moved. "Lure?" I hissed, "Lure, are you there?" I wandered around a little, for some reason feeling scared. But why? It was only Lure. He wouldn't hurt me, would he? "Okay, Lure. Quit it. I know it's you. Who else would it-" I stopped, startled, when I heard a strange sound that made me cringe. It was like fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard. I whipped around and came face-to-face with my mirror. Immediately, I saw the difference. Various scratches were displayed across the glass, forming words. It looked as if claws had written the words in the mirror. "Deepest apologies, but it was fun." (All credit goes to my sister, who wrote this when she was in the twelfth grade)
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