Coming of Age

Dread owns me, pushing against me like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse my steps back to my bed. Dread has my stomach locked up tight, nothing getting in or out. Dread sets my face like rigor mortis, my teeth locked tight together. But unless it can turn back time, drag the sun from the sky and inject amnesia into the mind of the professor, my time has come.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 9, 2015.
General

The wall clock ticks like the timer on a bomb. I can't stop it, reverse it or slow it down. Each tick drags me forward, helpless and nervous to the allotted time. I can no more avoid it than the beating of my own heart as it pounds with futility against it's cage of bone and cartilage. The dread is an invisible demon sitting heavy on my shoulders and only I can hear the sharpening of it's knives. I sweat and become pale, then the tremor in my hands begins. My head becomes a little giddy and my stomach nauseous. All I can do is wait on this plastic chair for my name to be called.

By bananasplit, October 30, 2013.
General

The dread creeps over me like an icy chill, numbing my brain. In this frozen state my mind offers me only one thought. It is today. There is no avoiding it. I'm like a cow being herded into a truck for the slaughter house, only the cow doesn't know where it's going and I do.

By robertgreen, November 21, 2013.
General

Tom ran his hands over the silvery bark, feeling the blisters, the curling. It was like the paint that flaked from the side of his house, coming loose under the still soft skin of his hands. A few years in the mines would take care of that, a few years in the darkness breathing in black dust. He pushed harder, the bark cracked and fell confetti-like before being lost in the woodland litter. The tree was cold under his hand and above the boughs were already naked, swaying almost imperceptibly in the wintry breeze. Soon it would grow tight buds, then they would crack open to reveal the soft-pea green of new papery leaves. When that happened his life in the sunshine was over. Sixteen. The day he became a man. There really wasn't anything he wanted less.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), January 11, 2015.
Coming of Age

Dread creeps down my spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk. I feel her feet on my skin, descending until I'm almost frozen to the spot. My stomach is full of lead; my feet are set in concrete; my mind is worryingly empty. All I can do is pray things slip into place when I take the hot seat, when finding the answers matters...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 9, 2015.
General

Marcie would describe dread as a slowly approaching train. She said, "Like any good nightmare it doesn't matter where you run because it keeps on coming just the same. As time runs out your feet become heavier until they are set in concrete on the tracks. And then all you can do is wait to be destroyed, wait to be nothing more than blood and bone fragments."

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 9, 2015.
General

Mica turned to chastise her sister, she was not to wake up Mama! As she did so her backpack knocked into Papa's bottle of whiskey and sent it smashing on the tile before she could draw breath, let alone move a hand to slow its fall. The single malt ordered from Scotland for Christmas mingled with the dirt they had walked in from outside. Her sister's face fell, ordinarily she was glad to see perfect Mica in trouble but somehow she knew that the fall-out of this "little accident" would not be easily contained. Even if they had the money, which they did not, another could not be ordered in time. They looked at one another in the newfound silence, then mama called from her bed. "Girls! What on earth was that noise?!"

By Angela Abraham (daisy), December 6, 2014.
Crime

The new team is leafing through every email and file. In just a few days they'll find the evidence, the breadcrumb trail that leads right back to me. They might as well stencil my name onto an orange jumpsuit and reserve my spot in the prison. My heart beats as if it would rather just stop and my brain is a non-productive fuzz. There are ways out of course, there always are, but all of them come at a high price...

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 9, 2015.
Dystopian

I can't fight the coming dawn any more than I can the tides. I can't stop what's coming any more than I can call upon the clouds to clear the sky. Perhaps it is dread, but not quite. What comes is my destiny, what my life has been building towards and I would never wish it away. Change is coming, it has to. Change or die, isn't that the brave new world?

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 9, 2015.
General

Unease blossomed from within her; as brilliantly as the fragrant Landora she now held with quivering hands.

By rosa2damaskina, October 30, 2016.