If we are born to die, and we all die to live, then what's the point of living life if it just contradicts? I felt the darkness as it tried to pull me down; the kind of dark that haunts a hundred-year-old house. I wrestle with my thoughts, I shook the hand of doubt. I'm running from my past; I'm praying feet don't fail me now.
Following
Sign up to join the largest storytelling community
or
Stories by Jye
Desi the Squirrel
A short little story I wrote for one of my friends. See, she loves squirrels and crazy stories.
Under the Stars
A story I wrote a while ago. It's about Kenadee Lucker who lost her father. It's in her POV and when she is a...