.::| My Stories |::.
She could feel it beneath her skin. The pain. Just increasing, rising. Growing. She'd been through a hell of a lot. There was noway she was going to give up now. There was no backing down. No looking back. And no giving up.
Souly relying on the pale light of the moon as her guide, she kept running. Straight through the heart of the woods. Dark shadows crept up along the path. The path beside the black creek. You could never see below the surface. It was said the creek and surrounding forest was, 'haunted'. There was a bridge that crossed the tiny river. Many women lost their lives there. Accused of witchcraft; they were hung. Hardly any were given a fair trial.
She could here the dogs off in a distance, as well see the faint glow of lamps and torches. The outlines of pitchforks and and other sharp objects were visible to her. This story is gay and i dont know why i wrote it. How the hell did you read this far?