《Short Stories 1》


 Leaves of Autumn

    But when Autumn came, that is when he laid. The grass laying next to him and the wind caressing his cheek felt like heaven had taken him away. If it had been a day, a week before, no such calmness would rest as he is.


    The leaves falling from the tree above were strikingly yellow; they painted the scene with their color, making the grass look synonymous with the sun. He couldn''t help but allow his eyes to absorb the intricate paintings that the trees brought about; the gentleness and equanimity he felt when he gazed made his heart quiver.


    He wanted so badly to breathe one last time, to feel the chill of the air passing through him and causing that ever so warm feeling in his stomach. No matter the effort, none came from it. He just laid.


    And laid. And laid.


    He laid until his mind had spiraling thoughts. Until he began to wonder: Who would find him? Who would love him? Where is he?Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    He laid and laid and laid until these constant deranged thoughts muddled and became imperceptible. His eyes began to cry.


    Tears gently fell to the radiant yellow leaves bestowed upon the ground.


    How wonderful was the scenery that one could cry at? Until your head is with the ground and your eyes are with the leaves can you cry.


    And this was but another thought. A moment departing in time and yet feeling as if an eternity passing.


    His subsiding tears cracked his cheeks. He contemplated about this thought until once again, he heeded the voice.


    What a lovely soul you adorn. Your tears taste of delicate grief and your mind feasts from your ineptitude to see.


    Must you relish in what you see? And not appreciate what you cannot see?


    Your tears run but you have not a clue why. Should you desecrate your time here?


    His forlorn self still laid. The voice derided him with an acetic tone.

 Through Tears

    Oh but, his mind would finally be free. Through the years of torment and demons in his head, he knew only one thing could save him.


    So he welcomed it. The sharp blade of the sword gently caressing his neck, as if it was calling for him to take his last breath. The warm trickle of blood that dropped down his neck and into his shirt caused his foggy head to clear.


    It was as if the sun was shining after the rain, it didn¡¯t hurt.


    When he no longer felt the blade against his neck, the fog returned muddying his thoughts once again. He dropped his head, watching as his blood fell.


    At the other end of the sword was a young man, clearly much younger than himself. His eyes were holding tears, the gentle kind. His hands let go of the blade, letting it fall beneath his feet.


    He had never felt such a sad presence, one that longed for an escape so badly. He held back his tears, forcibly swallowing the lump in his throat.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    While no words between the two were exchanged, it was almost as if, in that moment, their souls connected. One''s soul was calling out longingly for anything to grasp on too, anything for a taste of goodness, a taste of life. While the other was wholeheartedly feeling that impact, it called back, but it couldn''t reach the other through the fog.


    The two both sat there, one crying as if witnessing a precious animal being beaten, and one dry eyed, bleary, and wondering why he couldn¡¯t escape.


    Only when his blood no longer dropped and the other tears no longer fell did he become aware. He touched his neck, feeling the incision reach 4 inches long. Although it was long, it wasn¡¯t deep at all. It didn¡¯t feel like the other end had any malicious intent. It was almost calming.


    Seeing him touch his wounds, he immediately threw his arms around the other, his grasp tight, but not suffocatingly so, his eyes began to water again and as he held him he could feel his heart warming up.


    As he sat intertwined in his arms, the fogginess began to break. It flaked away slowly, going with every stroke of his hair. His arms naturally folded around the other and he began to wonder why it was he was crying; at least, only until he himself began to cry as well.


    It was as if this embrace was something he had been waiting for. Something that he had been longing for more than death. This was his escape, this was all he wanted to feel,


    This was his life.

 If I Could Cry

    The sounds of anguish engulfed him. The desperate screams and moans for help flooded his ears. The halls were painted with gold, the floors lined with tiles, in an instant, it was shrouded in a deep red.


    There was nothing else on his mind, which was lost. Only a small spark, a gentle breeze, a brush of hair. It ran through his mind and left just as quickly. He knew at once what they came for. Their steps sounded throughout the halls and barreled towards him; he knew they came for him.


    Soon all he had seen had vanished, and when he came back to reality, he was staring into a bucket. It was an empty bucket, with rust lining the bottom edges, the paint chipped off of the sides. The wood he laid on was hard and splintered his skin.


    He wondered what he was doing here. Where he was and what had happened. But when he looked up, he saw one gruesome, haunting sight. The smell of rot choked him and he wouldn''t let himself breathe.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    He couldn''t look away from the scene before him. The body was pulverized and barely recognizable. It looked as if someone had squished a berry. The blood of it was melting into the scenery and painting a strikingly contrasting sight.


    He couldn''t hear the men around him as they shouted at one another. He couldn''t feel their muscular hands shoving him on the dry wood. There was nothing more to his mind than what he could see.


    He yearned to caress the face of the body, and yet he couldn''t find out why. It called him. It''s dried blood cracking off of the gentle skin seemed more appealing than he could know.


    His eyes were attached to it. Its horror-stricken face seemingly stuck in time.


    He was entranced, his mind going blank.


    He wanted to be free,


    And to laugh,


    And to love,


    And to cry,


    What was wrong with him?


    Why can''t I think?