Drawing 2

Leah Huntley

United States

Lover, sinner, writer, dreamer. Come, souls fair and midnight alike, and let me embrace you.

Message from Writer

Bonjour, pryvet, guten tag, hello. I am a youthful lass, inexperienced in the ways of this world, but I do enjoy a pretty word or two. Critique of any sort is encouraged, so please, talk to me. Bises~

Beginnings

September 17, 2015

1. There were dead spiders on the wall, dead spiders in the sink, dead spiders in the cabinets, and dead spiders on the floor. Anyone else would've found it beyond disgusting, but he couldn't help but let out a satisfied giggle every time he felt another arachnid corpse crunch beneath his bare feet.
 
2. “They’re all the same, Anabelle,” his voice murmured lowly, fingers drumming rhythmically against the dark wood of the table. “I watch them all and not once shows even an ounce of promise. They disgust me.”
 
3. She had stubbornly insisted to carry her own weight, either forgetting or refusing to acknowledge the fact that she was 96, blind and incapable of walking more than ten steps by herself.

4. This is not a romantic tale. There will be no candles, no rose petals or pretty white weddings at the end. This is simply the telling of a man, a woman, and thirty-five cents at the laundromat.

5. Another fit of rough, dry coughs forced their way up my throat, snickering at my agony as I gasped for air and desperately tried to breathe. Four weeks like this and I was still in held tightly in the clutches of the black illness that continued to plague me.

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