Micro Stories

look away

the lace drops down and somewhere in the night a wolf howls. blood drip, drip, drips down my arm, splatting onto the forest floor. i can’t see the tree i lean against. the only color, the glow of eyes they tell me not to trust. your claws, they’re meant for rending, but your touch keeps me safe.

darkness wraps me in memories of their screams. its softer than i remember.

they’ve got you all wrong.

they traded velvet for chains, singing along to their own funeral march, heads held high, noses buried deep in noisy words and pretty smiles. they don’t hear the clang of metal links at their wrists, the flaxen cord squeezing at their throats, tighter, tighter, tighter.

when i ran, they looked for me in the mass grave they’d hidden. they don’t think about it anymore. a ghost among their thoughts, a number on their screens. they forgot what it’s like. to bleed.

monster, they call you.

hand in hand, we run.

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