Midnight Moonlit Crimson: Shelby Story

April 5, 2010
Life is, in an essence, the only way for beings to die. From the time of conception one exists to eradicate away back to mother nature’s soil from which Adam first originated. It is a well-known fact and scientifically proven, that one’s existence brings out one’s own death. This truth is world known—why do people cling to a life they don’t have the time to secure?
• • • • •

Shelby ran out of the parking garage. Just barely avoiding the onslaught of passing cars, she ran down 17th avenue. She didn’t know if he was still behind her, one thing she still had enough rationality to know: when in a chase, don’t look back. She turned the corner, tripped, and skidded into the ally way. She scurried up wanting to leave, but found her path blocked by his bored eyes.

In an instant his hand closed around Shelby’s throat as he pinned her against the wall. Shelby gasped as she clawed at his hands, Her nails dug into his skin and he delighted in the prickly sensation. “Shh,” he cooed as he effortlessly tightened his grip; he smiled softly at the sound of her windpipe snapping, and then he sobered just as quickly as the smile had come. Shelby’s composure slackened as she fell limply in his arms, and he stared down at her horrified expression—eyes wide and mouth agape—and dropped her. Then he walked away.





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