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Stitches

The dirty vermin stitch up the last bit of thread. It fits. Rags cling to her inhumane figure like hands around a throat. She slithers through the doorway and down the stairs to the rotten fruit on wheels that she called transport. How vile. She doesn't care as she climbs in, sending shivers down the spine of any creature within sight. Her eyes gaze straight, nobody dares to look at them. A smug smile grows on her face as a blade shimmers from her hand in the moonlight. Under her breath she whispers softly, 'I shall go to the ball.'

by Carla Randle (0)
Wilnecote High School, Tamworth


Competition - Grim Tales

Copyright remains with the author.