Stories aren't hard to see through the eyes of children. Miss. Death
Some times I wonder what is must be like to be death. Constantly surrounded by decaying bodies, always feeling cold, and always alone. Maybe death liked their job, laying others to rest at first but after centuries of it you can imagine how lonely it could be. Everything you touch dies, everything you hate and love dead at your feet. Your job is important you know that but you feel as through that's not the case. You feel like your cursed to kill, spread viruses, and destroy everything you graze your fingers on. How much much more can death take? How long until they snap and realize... the only way to stop things from dieing at your touch is to make sure there's no life left to kill.
YOU ARE READING
The Tales of Mad Woman
HorrorThese are short stories I make up. Makes sence if I post them somewhere. I'll draw a cover soon.
