Bed time stories.

Just some short stories I wrote. Like I said in my previous post, I’m not a writer. I just write when I’m bored to amuse myself and be occupied. But here it is.

She stared. All day. From a distance. Not in a creepy manner though. Not even with creepy intentions. But she stared with something else. Longing. Wonder. What was it like to be so liked? What was it like to have so many friends? Hell, what was it like to even have friends? These questions would invade her mind when she was around people. And that was only at her school. And occasionally, the grocery store when her mom asked her to pick some stuff. So the only place where those questions wouldn’t cross her mind were in the confines of her tiny bedroom. With no saddening questions in mind, her mind was unlike anything in the world. More beautiful than the brightest star in the universe. She could put words onto paper as easily as a painter could paint a wall white. She could make the most bizarre things seem possible. She created worlds upon worlds, characters upon characters, stories upon stories. And it was a shame those stories never left the drawer on the right side of her table. It was a shame the only eyes reading those words of pure bliss were hers. And it was a shame that the only light that would ever fall on those pages was the one from her bedside lamp. 

But one day, when she’s older, she’s going to find these books. And after years, she’s going to read them. And she’s going to laugh. And cry. Then when the time is right, she’ll pass it on to her teenage daughter, going through life just as she did, one day at a time. 

And for the first time ever, it won’t be just her eyes. It’ll be theirs.


Told you. Not a pro. Now the next one’s slightly on the darker side of life.


He watched as she kissed the bastard on he lips. Distaste overcame him. Such beautiful pink lips deserved much more than filthy ones that’s been a lot of places. She was just a number and he waited for the day she’s realize it.

She doesn’t know him. Except from that one time she told the bully to back off from him. 

He wrote her letters, but he never sent them to her. He took her pictures, but he never showed them to her. He loved her, but he never told her.

How could he? A girl like her would never love a guy like him. That’s just not how things worked in this God forsaken world. 

He waited for the day where he could kiss her lips and fuck her hard till a loud scream breaks out of her. 

He waited for the day when her thin, sexy neck would snap under the strength of his hands.

And he knew the day was coming close. So the waiting didn’t seem so bad.

Little did he know that that very night, on her way back home from a party, she’d drive into a pole and die. 

Did she though? Did she die, or was she saved?


Those are it for now.

I’m going to go get some breakfast now.

Laters amigo.


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