Inkheart1234ever

It was after their concert. The crowd was cheering so loud, you could hardly hear the music itself. The air was thick with smoke from the finale, it was hard to breathe. There weren't many lights on, only the dimmed ones hanging from the ceiling. The backstage was dark, you couldn't see very well where you were walking to. It was normal to run into someone. Two dark figures were standing behind some old instrments in the corner. No one could see them there, so they could have moment alone. They whispered so softly, that you couldn't hear them either. They were like two ghosts, but no. They were, in fact, two small chipmunks in the company of

I'm a tainted beauty,     or so I think. Inside of my head are things no one should think,     thoughts so scary there's no forgetting about them. They're filled with blood, hate, and death,     but the deeper you go, the brighter they become.

"Mommy, why do we have numbers on our arms?" I might as well have asked where babies come from. There was an answer, sure; but not the kind that a six-year-old could make sense of, much less appreciate it in its entirety. Yet I remember my mother doing her best to explain, taking my hand in hers and running an index finger across my wrist. 5840d 03m 22s, the thing read. "These numbers serve a very special purpose," she began slowly. "Every second of every day, for as many years at it takes, they will continue to count down, until all that remains is a row of zeros." "But count down to WHAT?" I demanded, impatient as ever. "What happens whe