Hi, welcome to the story, unfortunately I'm dying, but don't worry, the next narrator will take my place... hopefully they'll be the last of us.

That’s how I used to think mysteries started, but the one I’m living began on a clear spring morning when I opened a drawer in the kitchen looking for a match and found a diary in my own hand writing that I had no recollection of whatsoever.

As my bones snapped & extended, my jaws began to stretch~becoming longer ‘n’ wider— she raised a piercing cry, but my howl was much louder-

#PANICUS.

The soft earth parts quietly beneath his feet as he approaches, his face wreathed in shadows.

As the Romani woman turned to me, I focused on her blue eye while she told me I'd see everyone I love die — by my own hands. If only I believed in gypsy magic.

Leslie methodically painted her toenails while she thought about the no good, lousy things her neighbor screeched at her this morning.

She stood in a sea of blood, but it had stopped phasing her a long time ago.

I awoke to the sounds of my cat loudly purring next to me, which wouldn't have been so alarming if I hadn't remembered that he had died several years prior.

When she closed her eyes, they would beat their wings and bellow in ectasy; when she opened them, they would dissapear.