Motivated to write at least one post every day this month, I searched for a picture that would inspire a short story and I think I found the perfect one! With thunder booming in the distance, I stare at the illustration and a tale of darkness begins to spin...
by Meredith Loughran
scrape. scrape. scrape.
My fingernails scraped at the soft dirt until I could see a pinhole of light.
I felt no fear. No pain.
That all died when I did.
In this moment I just knew one thing: that I wanted get the hell out of the ground and away from the creeping things that gnawed on rotting flesh.
I wasn't dead - at least not dead-dead - and I was hungry for justice.
My appetite was ravenous as I scraped my way to freedom.
Sitting on the pile of upturned earth I could hear the cries of the other girls buried in their shallow graves.
Somehow I knew they would not rise up with me.
I was alone and my duty was to avenge them.
I feel their combined energy with every fiber of my being; it's too much!
From the depths of my soul, my scream pierces the darkness. No night creature dares answer back.
Only the moon stares down upon my bruised and naked body.
The voices still.
My strength grows from this awful silence and the gross depravity steeped from this unholy cemetery.
I know what must be done.
I am awake now. I am strong.
And I am hell come to get you.