Slavering RustSlavering RustSlavering Rust by ~L2i0n0k7
Everyone wanted everything to be gleaming again, or maybe they just wanted their evening back. When rust came, it ate most of our part, even the metals that don't normally succumb to just plain rust. Ordinary rust, that is, without the capital "R."
When it started, when it first drifted into the window like a cloud of brown-red spores, we were at first glad it wasn't Fire. Fire is cruel, prickly. It can touch anything it wants, with enough motivation. But Rust eats only metal.
Unfortunately for us, it was the year's Gala of the Gleams, so practically everything was metal. Most of the building was metal, even, for it was built with the specific purpose of holding the Galas. The entire structure was steel, with the majority of the ballroom coated in chrome or gold leaf. The golden lights in golden chandeliers gave everything a warm glow. The reflections on the shining walls gave the room a limitlessness, gave us a limitlessness; we felt as though our riches and our strengt
DistressedMrs. Rad couldn't stand children. She hated their dirty little fingers. She hated their messy hair, how they never desired to fix it. She hated their need to be constantly entertained. She wished they could sit around and chat calmly like sensible people.Distressed by ~L2i0n0k7
Mrs. Rad wished she'd never given birth. She had liked the thought of them, once. She thought they would be fun. She though they would be warm and happy and clean and enjoyable. She thought they would bring her the joy the rest of her life had failed to bring. She thought she would love them.
But they had all come at once. All six of them from one birth. She didn't have enough love to spread around. They were too much, all at once. All those diapers, all at once. All those feedings, all at once. She tried to breast feed them. She gave up almost immediately as the sucked her breasts dry. They sucked her life dry. They sucked her savings account dry. They sucked everything out of her existence that she cared about. And so she decided to
Afraid of ThemOne night, at eight years old, I find myself cowering in my bathtub, shivering. It isn't cold. Last I knew it was 83 degrees outside. But it's almost midnight, and I'm not asleep. I should be, I really should, but now it's too late. It's coming and I'm too frightened to move of my own will. I can't make it to bed. I had to stop along the way, collapse in the safety of the plastic tub. Maybe they won't look for me here.Afraid of Them by ~L2i0n0k7
It's 11:51 PM. I saw on TV that they come at midnight. I have nine minutes. I really should have been in bed hours ago, by both my parent's rules and my own. What was I thinking? They'll come and I'll be frozen, my muscles slack, and their cold grey fingers will touch my body, lifting me out of my empty bathtub, which now seems so much less safe than my warm bed. At least in bed I can pull the covers up over my head. I've spent nights that way before, sheets piled atop my body as I sweat from the heat and try to pull enough air into my lungs. That's always kept me safe i