oh, won't you come along with me? {o p e n}

[»M O R P H i N E]

SHIVER

It's a nice spring day, with a bright, warm sun, a cool breeze, and daisies popping out of the ground. Or lilies, as the case may be. And in my case, they are lilies. Pretty, pretty, white lilies; all over, everywhere, surrounding me. I sit, still as a statue, white as any of the delicate flowers at my feet- no! White as a ghost! Aha ha ha! Get it, get it? Aww, get a sense of humor. I peer around the courtyard with venomous yellow eyes, two dots of sickening color in an otherwise unpigmented form. The bright day does nothing to relieve the basic fright factor of the place I'm in. Not even the most beautiful summer afternoon, when the girl of your dreams has just sent you a love letter and the step-dad who molests you has just died, could possibly make you over-look how very disturbing this place is. Bloodstains from the First World War still mark the cracked and disintegrating pavement of the courtyard. A guillotine sits on a stone platform near the center of the yard, and beside it are the gallows; there's room for three grown men to be hung side by side, or five women, or several children. And I've been around long enough to give you an inside scoop: there were children hung here.

Ha ha, didn't expect that, did you? Men, women, children; humans never were picky about who they killed, especially in times of war. Oh, they claimed to have morals, sure, but anyone who claims to have morals is more likely to go against them. Me? I have no morals, and I never pretend too. Shaking, I stand, and step daintily down from my perch on a garden wall. Yeah, a formerly well-tended garden in the same courtyard as a guillotine and a gallows. Humans sure had a great sense of humor. I begin to hum quietly as my slim, fox-like body carries me at a trot towards the guillotine. I dart up the stairs and hop onto the rotting board where the victim was made to lay down. I laid down on my belly, and rested my neck along the edge of the table, hanging my head to peer at the stain of darker wood just below. They had set baskets there to catch the heads, but sometimes they weren't very efficient. I yawned; a habitual thing, really, and relaxed, staring at the warped and decaying wood.


s t a t u s // complete
w o r d c o u n t // 409
t a g // open
n o t e s // My first post with Shiver, yay!