Blood trickled down her face in a slow oozing motion. He looked down to see a broken bottle in his hand, the tips a crimson red. His hand opened and the bottle dropped to the floor, shattering as it hit the cold linoleum. His face became disturbed and then went as white as a ghost. He backed away, hands shaking, turned and ran. He ran as if rabid dogs were chasing him, as if the world was about to end. As he ran things became clearer, memories came back, slowly rolling in his mind like a black and white movie.He ran untill his feet fell out from under him, and he dropped to his knees and held his head in his arms repeating, "What have I done, what have I done?"
A few hours later, the police came across two lifeless bodies on the cold linoleum floor.
5 comments:
You're a bit of a sicko.
Your writing is wonderful, but are you okay. I noticed you write a lot of depressing stories that involve murder and suicide.
Blank. Blank. What can I do with you. You love to write depressing poems, yet this does not fit for you. I dare you to try and write one happy poem and post it!!
Are you up for the challenge.
You know who this is from.
You are a very interesting girl, blank. Yes your name is blank. Well, I hope that you continue your depressing stories.
few grammar mistakes but you know i like it ALOTTTAAA. Just a little "bleh".
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