General

The shadows are cast long and thin in the woods and my eyes can barely penetrate the gloom that is spreading faster than a callous rumour in the market place. Then I hear the telltale sound of Greapers and I know I'm in deep shit. These aren't some cute little creatures from some out-dated video game, they're a cult and no-one knows who the members are. But when they close in on their mark they giggle and clap exactly three times. They think that's sporting. So when I hear it my blood runs ice cold. If I don't keep my wits about me now all they'll find of me in the morning is a good looking corpse. They won't defile me or cut like a common murderer, they will choke me with a soft pillow from my own bed and leave it under my head like I'm just sleeping. If I can escape their trap then I win, they'll never bother me again, or at least that's their claim. It's never been tested. Shit. I listen for their unplanned noises, footfalls and breathing to plan my escape. Shit.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), November 18, 2014.
General

Shit is the feeling you get inside your gut as you slowly walk down the snow covered walkway that lead you to the door of the man that you love's house, only to be greeted by a woman wearing not enough clothing to be simply 'stopping by.' Shit is the look on the face of the woman that finally realizes just how far she has invested herself into this inadequate life style. Shit is the term that is slowly uttered under the breathe of the man that comes home to a house empty of her half. Shit is the life of the child that has scars that tells more stories about alcohol, than she personally can. Shit is this glorified misery we call living.

By myownauthor3, November 17, 2014.