The next time I returned to steal, I found my wife preserved in the field with her hands nailed open like a scarecrow, and the vultures didn’t stop at her eyes, they picked her tongue clean.
When I opened them again, half my reflection was missing, and clumps of flesh slid off my face like wet cake.
I turned on the water and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, half my reflection was missing, and clumps of flesh slid off my face like wet cake.
We were left permanently blind, and the last thing I heard was her whispering that she wasn’t done yet.
A voice crawled over my shoulder with a heavy breath, "You weren't supposed to see that."
One morning, I saw two children riding a bike, and knew which skin would fit mine best.
In the lab, a few others and I were tortured and labeled miracles with regenerative capabilities; I’ve been screaming since.
Foolish, I wound it, and the song bled from my ears; the case was dismissed after a decade, but they kept the box...
My grandfather smiled as he wound the music box that had been scratched with devilish symbols, claiming it played the "true music of the good ol' days."
I watched in silence as everyone in the room began to weep thick, river-stained blood, and their eyes held open in a scream they couldn't release.
(This was rushed. I'm going to redo it.)
Before me stretched a vast red field of beating hearts that swayed like crops, each one a life I had stolen.
“Harvest season’s late,” the reaper sighed, pressing a rusted sickle into my hands and telling me to start with my wife.
It was hard. His voice was much more smother than mine I'd have to admit. Going from deep to lower makes it harder.
Training and just goofing off for a competition against my rival.