To Kill
Thump. And she falls. Gracefully at first. Faster. Faster until she thuds upon the mud, cradled in a mossy grave. A bumb bigger than her first home grows upon her fragile face. I have crushed her. A rage more violent than thorns blooms inside me. I could not kill it. But they did not believe me. The forerunners of society. They are murderous. How could she crush this young bud of hope, joy, love? They want blood. It is quiet now. Here in my iron pen I write, faster than the wind. Trying to... Sign in to see full entry.