Whenever the sun falls and the moon rises, we rise, too. Whenever the lights go out, ours come on. We Nightcrawlers lurk in the shadows and play in the dark. We stay on the other side, in which no Nightcrawler nor a Mortal shall ever cross. The guarded line is drawn between the two places. Any mortal in their right mind, skeptical of the Nightcrawlers or not, knows never to cross the path. That path that no one was stupid enough to cross, except me, Silas Asher Clay. My mother used to tell me stories about the Mortals. They were not the fairy tales or anything in the comedic sorts. My mom always told me that they were the horror stories, not us. I was told that they had distorted features. For example, razor sharp and yellow teeth, too much hair, gigantic hands, and gross warts. None of them were introduced as beautiful, yet troublesome. They made us believe that we were the beautiful creatures, and they were the horrifying ones. Our people have never crossed the District Line, so it is hard to truly know what the Mortals look like. I have always wanted to meet a Mortal and live in their world. A place where the sun always shines, everywhere has life, and where I can be myself. Not having to hide who I truly am. Nobody knows but I feel like life has left me, an ocean is drowning me and fear is consuming me. I do not want to live like this anymore. That is one of the thoughts that I tend to keep to myself because if I admitted to anyone that the thought of a Mortal’s presence fascinates me, they would automatically assume that I am wrong by the reason of insanity and would send me off into a white truck that hauls me pass District Lines and into the asylum. That is what happened to my father who discussed how beautiful a Mortal ... ... middle of paper ... ... kill, I would be dead from the shooting daggers that shot out. “Don’t be a pussy, Cliff. Shouldn’t have clinged on to me like an infant drinking milk from a mother’s breast.”, I said with a smirk. He smashed his hands to the pavement helping him get up. “This isn’t a game of sack tapping, you know.” he giggled as he shoved me to the side. “Sorry, but uh, what are you even doing here?”, I questioned. “I decided to go with you”, Cliff said cheerfully. I grabbed ahold of his hand and lead him through the woods. The District Line was right in front of us. He and I climbed over the fence and took off. “So uh, how we get to The Mortal World?”, Cliff questioned. “There’s a spell you have to say. Once we say it, a door will appear!”, I said excitedly. He grabbed my hand and we both said, “From immortal to mortal, I shall cross, I want to enter now open the portal.”
In Hawthorne 's, "Young Goodman Brown," the dark refers to the evil and temptation people face everyday. The Puritans believed that the Devil and evil resided in the woods. When Brown leaves his wife Faith, he tells her to go to sleep at dusk so no harm will
His opposer stands triumphantly as he thought to have succeeded in his mission. “How ill mannered is he?” the sniper murmured to himself with a devious smile. Standing tall in all black; blazer, bow tie, socks, Balmoral shoes, with the button up also to be corresponding. He appears seemingly endless like a black shadowed character made up to startle young children. The opposing sniper moves as if he is the actual Slender Man. As he stands as a vacuous man, I conjure my scheme to vanish him.
I placed the knife on the table and turned around, pinning my gaze inside the plastic wrapped room that I had carefully prepared. An agonized face glared back at me, blue eyes burned beneath the black eyebrows. “What the hell is this?” I carelessly studied the forehead which tightened and twitched with tension and my gaze wandered off to his left cheek. “This... is the moment of truth.” I replied to his cry with ease. He was breathing heavily. Oh, this felt so good. It has been a very long time since I let my dark passenger come out to play. Thirty-eight days, sixteen hours, and twelve minutes to be precise, Trinity has kept me occupied long enough. Then I sliced his left cheek to take my blood slide.
The first half of my book “The Cellar” written by Natasha Preston, was so good that I could not put the book down. The girl, at that point, had no memories which include her name and anything before she woke up on a dirty, bloody cabin floor. She looked down at her throbbing hand and found that two of her fingernails were missing.
I think I’ve prepped you to accept danger unaided, set out the door, flip down your blast shield, take the first step unafraid-ed, so launch your path, level up from hobbits to jawas, pixels to bloodbath, stop at this tavern, then wear a disguise, you’ll know thine enemy, he’s the one with red eyes. Embark on your voyage, your crusade, your trek to a far-away earth, middle-, high- or low-, you’ll walk and you’ll walk, lose some of that girth, and finally arrive at your destiny, that one doom, that ironic fate, that M. Night Shy-a-malan-ding-dong for which you can’t
An enduring monument to his inadequacy to which he would employ a slumbering retreat. He would wrestle with his body for a brief respite from the perpetual torture that was his insomnia, tossing and turning over every inch of his bed west of the fissure that was once full of love, but never would he attempt to traverse it’s curves and corners for fear of falling into it’s deep, depressive vicinity. He lay there, awake again. His mind a highway of thoughts, only this highway had no lights, no exits, and no colour. He was stood resolute, immovable in the vast sea of movement. Surveying the surroundings that lay before him, he saw only mountainous regions of terrain, casting even more monstrous shadows over him. Each one taller than the last and twice as dark. Some would have the carved faces of past friends, frozen in a state of lament, both in time, and stone. The only solace in the midnight world was a single patch of firm, fresh grass, with a tasteful tartan picnic basket - ribbons and all. Entirely devoid of food, yet still somehow quenching his desires. A single ray of light in an otherwise nefarious expanse, shrouded in atrocities unfit even for the infernal realms of hell. The lighthouse in treacherous waters, guiding him to the reliable shores that are his most vivid and treasured
“Silly mortal did you really thing you could win against me, a spirt?” pushing the knife deeper into Dan’s heart, “now hurry up and die so i can live in it already.”
Once upon a time deep in a large forest there lived a woodchopper, his wife, and their two children, Hansel and Gretel. It was a beautiful forest, full of trees, flowers and butterflies and streams. Matter of fact, the family had everything they could ever want except for one little thing.
Demigods each have their own weakness and vulnerability to their monster sides. Demigods often resembled humans in their feelings, marrying and having children, and searching for nutrition to regain strength (Blackboard 1).
Mortal females cause struggles among men and are portrayed as wicked in Greek Mythology. In the story of How the World and Mankind Were Created, the Father of Men and of the Gods, Zeus, swears to get revenge upon mankind because of the poor sacrifices made to the altars. Therefore, he “[makes] a great evil for men, a sweet and lovely thing to look upon… they [call] her Pandora… the first woman… who are an evil to men, with a nature to do evil… is the source of all misfortu...
No time. He stashed the old rowboat under the aged willow tree where he found it two days before. The blood soaked running suit went into a one Dumpster the gloves into another. He knew the schedule. By 10 AM, they would both be in the landfill. Good luck on finding them.
I turn around, the unsettling feeling of something following dawns on me. A wave of mist rushes over to me and blurs my vision. Crows cackle into the dark night and I’m suddenly aware of how alone I am. I start running, the fear of a creature lurking in the forest is my worst enemy. Constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to see a monster staring into my soul. A light suddenly shines onto me and I am illuminated in the dark surroundings. Startled and confused I back away from the spotlight, thrown into complete darkness again. The light is being thrown around the forest, hungry for a living being. I crouch behind some bramble and hope the light disappears.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
curtain and was killed with a thrust of a dagger. "Time is out of joint.
It was a dark, cold, cloudy day. The clouds covered the sky like a big black sheet, nothing to be seen except darkness that seemed to go on forever. This was the third day in a row that there had been complete darkness, there was no getting rid of it. This was because of ‘the meteorite.’