the quiet things no one speaks of

the quiet things no one speaks of

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jul 10, 2016
here is a collection of short stories that i have documented as i slouch through each and every day. looking back on these words now nearly makes me cringe; i've realized that i have wasted too much of me, too many of my words on people who don't deserve them. i have also realized that i should not and will no longer claim victory, as time has proven that once the exit of one labyrinth appears, the entrance to another is just around the corner. i often find myself at war with my need to pick up a pen, the voices in my head that demand i give up, and my desperate attempts to grasp onto someone who i believe can save me. yet i still find myself writing. for what or who, i doubt i'll ever know, but this is all i have.
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They used my vulnerability against me. They used that weapon, to make me accept their stupid idea. And I of course, accepted it, I didn't even know what they were going to do. They tugged and poked and even shoved their disgusting finger in your wound, just to see you cry. To see you change. No pitty in their eyes. They just continue. They drag you around with metal chains, hit you and turn you into a experiment. But I had enough of the tugging, the clawing, the moaning, the crying and pleading for them to stop, but simply feeding them with our pain. They turned me into something, that neither do they know what I am. Their afraid of me, of my reflexes, my strength. I killed a lot of them. They say I have a cold heart, that I don't feel nothing. That's why they call me: Death -----------------------------------------************************************--------------------------------------------- Death. A teen girl, pitch black hair, black eyes, white skin. Her height is 5'8. People are scared of her, not just because of her strength but because of they way she kills. She lived in this hell hole, where they take her to rooms. Examine. Fight. She knows she won't be able to entertain them for long. She decides to run. Soul. Brown hair as mud, blue eyes as the sky. Hight 6'2. Tanned and toned body. Death's best friend in the hell hole they're in, he's as cold as she is. But shows a bit of sympathy. Well... More than her at least. He's been there for her, ever since she entered this place of crap. They're the two most feared. As some people say, they're a perfect couple. Killing. Fighting. Cold hearted creatures. Also known as D and S. Why? That's what your going to find out, joining this adventure with D and S.

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