147 Stories

When the faint glow of 1:47 shows up, the pen clicks, the pages flip, and words that aren't spoken are written through ink that bleeds.

Three years ago a verial went bad. The verial had followed the shadows all the way to a small home in the country. There the verial had opened the door to meet a family eating dinner. The verial looked at the table between them, making a fire start. She looked around and turned away. Not noticing the girl in the middle of it all crawl away without a scratch. Not noticing her walk away with nothing but a broken heart. Not realizing that girl was me.