The Shadow Man
The stench was rather vile—much worse than a pig~sty- Noire felt all the supper begin to make its way back up from their esophagus. Shirley Temple could hardly be recognized after her body had been disintegrated by something that Noire felt might be a platinum daemon.
#TheShadowMan (c) 09.27.2022
Millennial Horror Story
you’re a millennial about to hit 2023
you can’t afford rent or therapy so you laugh off your trauma while living in your mom’s basement drinking the tequila that reminds you of college yet you still can’t pay off those student loans and you just gaslighted your girlfriend because she‘s “too much” but you still cry when Bambi dies
The windows were closed, cracks covered with black tape, old newspaper stuffed wherever cold might seep through, albeit irrelevant since any insulation that might once have filled the space behind the walls had long since rotted away or been nibbled by desperate rodents, ancestors of the skinny shadow slowly creeping towards the only source of warmth in the room: a wriggling bundle whimpering pitifully for warm hands that might hug and hold it close to breasts that might nourish the body, a loving heart to nurture the soul. Alas, a hopeless wish, as long nails and sharp teeth caused the soft cry to crescendo, briefly, before the silence was marred only by hungry desperate gnawing and chewing of a satisfied beast.