General

Dead is permanent. Dead is forever. Dead is when the spark in the eyes is extinguished, yet unlike fire is utterly without smoke.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 26, 2015.
General

Death is a transition, we've known that for sometime. The individual, the personality and the memories die but the soul moves on. It seems so strange that humanity didn't understand the soul for so long, that like any other form of energy it cannot be created or destroyed. Our souls come from God and they return to Him, ready to be reborn. I should be happy for Old Betty, happy that she is moving on to a new adventure, but I want her back so much I think my heart will explode. Looking at her body I can see she isn't there, no more than I am still in my clothes when I have cast them off at the end of a long day. I pray that God will see fit to put us together in the next life, that our deep love for one another leaves an etch mark on our souls, like a light in a dark night to draw us back together.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 26, 2015.
General

To see him dead was to die herself. There was no her without him, no life after his love. He had been her all, her raison d'être, and existing when he no longer did cracked her mind in a way that would never heal.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 26, 2015.
General

Nelson was dead, eyes fixed and vacant. Tabitha crouched, one hand over his still chest. He was gone. She picked up his hand, so cold and pale, touching it to her newly wet cheek, closing her eyes for just a moment. In that eternal second she felt his presence, like the last kiss they never got to have. Her mind struggled to stay in that moment, to keep him close, but father time will not be mastered by mortals. The wall clock ticked forwards, Nelson's spirit was gone. She placed his hand by his side and lay with him, feeling his body cool, tears soaking into his tunic.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 26, 2015.
General

When Izzy approached the still form it was perfect in every way; from the white dress to the curled red hair she was bride-like. Instinctively she reached out her ungloved hand to touch her face, to wake her. Upon contact she recoiled her fingers as quickly as a child from a hot stove. But instead of heat it was the coldness that shocked her; in the brief touch enough heat was stolen to turn her lips blue. She took a step back, nursing her damaged skin in the other hand. The girl was frozen right through but looked like she might awake any moment and burst into song. Izzy pulled her radio out of her jeans pocket and called Ted, if anyone knew what to do it was him.

General

Emily shook her head mutely. She'd been here an hour tops, or this was some nightmare. She breathed. It wasn't real, how could it be. “Choose a card.” She shook her head. “Why refuse me?”

“This is a dream! You're not real. Now I demand you melt into a puddle, then this damn haunted house will dissolve and I'll wake up in my bed.”

The ghoul laughed. “Do you think you could have survived so long without eating or drinking? Why don't you think back to that day you spent under the bridge, skipping school. What really happened? Blocked it out have we? I would too. You came to a sticky end, my love. Then you came to me. I can't manipulate the living half was well as I can the dead. And that's what you are. So let's stop all the pretence and get on with the game. Choose a card.”

General

There was an explosion, noise, destruction and chaos.
When he came back to his senses he felt a weight over him, it was Avila; his friend who had attempted to save him during the bomb blast. She felt heavy, heavier than usual and her body was cold, still and silent. Tears came to his eyes as he tried to remove the stiff body off him...he couldn't accept it...she was dead

By Iman Malik, July 11, 2015.
Fantasy / Dark

There is more than one type of death. I died some time ago. I didn't mean to. My heart still beats, though only as a cold pump, working despite my spark of life being extinguished. My world is icy, every day overcast no matter what the weather is outside. People move, cars fill the streets, the yellow street-lamps still shine at night, yet everything seems pixilated, unreal, distant. Happiness lurks as a memory, every day feeling more like an illusion and slipping further out of reach. Every face I see is as welcome as a gun and their smiles are the bullets - everything they do is just another heap of dirt over my mental coffin. My twilight ebbs into blackness; I only needed one brilliant heavenly shaft of light to bring me home, without it I cannot live - death is preferable to wandering a barren maze for eternity.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 26, 2015.