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Modern Knights by Siana Sunghee Park

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this inspired me❤️

snowy graveyards ♡︎

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Snowy Cemeteries

A graveyard lain with snow and plagued with ghosts

Crows will taunt the shallow ground with their harrowed cries and beady eyes

Churchyards have never seemed so sallow.

Clouds obscure the midday sun, the frosted tombstones are now your only friend.

Marble angels frown down with menace

You can’t step foot in such a sacred place.

If you even come near, the need to run will forever overwhelm you.

Until your breath gives out and you fall in a ditch

Lungs filled with snow as your laughing is hitched, crystalline clouds dragging past your lips…

Your cold corpse will preserve in the drifts

Formaldehyde of nature, a lovely trick

Your blue eyes open and staring to the sky

Travelers pass without a tip

Your performance is over, you’re Death’s little bitch

You never stood a chance of being buried in that graveyard.

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I love how wolverines look like a rat and a bear had a child

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spooky writing personal challenge day #3

Rain splattered on his upturned face, forming streams that ran along his sharp cheekbones down to his quivering chin. Rocks and twigs dug into his knees, concealed by the thick carpet of wet dead pine needles. His clothes were soaked, his jeans and t-shirt plastered to his skin, strands of short hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were wide open and staring. Gazing purposelessly up at the canopy of interlaced moss-blanketed trees, droplets of water pittering and pattering on the rich emerald leaves. His slowly numbing hands rested on his thighs, held in loose fists. The thin silver chain of a necklace hung from his fingers.

All he knew was the hiss of rain on the leaves, and the cold feeling that penetrated, deep into his bones, clawing at his mind and heart and soul. Body and blood, he was sure, that he was going insane.

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A dream that I had once

The air was hot and sticky, but I wasn’t sweating at all. Hundreds of people from my school swarmed around me, heading in the opposite direction, toward a break in a six-foot chain-link fence that divided  the huge rectangular-shaped meadow where I stood in two. I couldn’t tell what was beyond it besides a shaded field with an oval-shaped strip of black. A track, maybe?

I made my way across the bright green grass towards a picnic shelter, the old maroon paint flaking away from the soft brown wood underneath. The air here was cooler, but not chilly enough that I would have to untie the flannel from around my waist and put it on over my white tank top to warm up.

I passed one of the built-in wooden picnic tables, and oddly, every person sitting there had hair ranging from silver to white done up in a crazy frizzy-Albert-Einstein-electrocuted- Super-Saiyan look, and they each wore a plain white t-shirt and pastel plaid cargo shorts paired with black Crocs featuring bulky fast food pins. They all paused from eating their chili dogs and cheeseburgers to look up at me as I passed. Each of them had Einstein’s exact facial features.

What a crowd.

At the far end of the picnic shelter there were multiple white fold-up tables covered with dollar-store red-and-white plaid tablecloths, strewn with the usual cookout foods: hamburgers, hotdogs, chili, beans, assorted cookie trays, barbeque, fruit and veggie trays, lasagna, KFC buckets, baked mac ‘n’ cheese, deviled eggs, etc. There were a couple of ice-filled coolers situated at the end of the line of tables, one sprinkled with various sodas and plastic water bottles. The other had different kinds of beerI[c] snatched up an M&M chocolate chunk cookie as I passed by and came to stand near the plates and utensils, waiting my turn.

For some reason my uncle was there with another guy in his mid-sixties who had bleach-blond hair in the same style as the people at the first picnic table. He had on black cargo shorts and pink fluffy bunny slippers. Why was he wearing a wife beater? My uncle fist-bumped me as I grabbed a plate and utensils, which I thought was odd. Him and I didn’t really talk that much, usually just a nod as to each other’s presence in a conversation or calling each other Squirt and Old Man, respectively. We were the only ones over here with the old guy.

“How’s the corn, Jim?” the older man asked my uncle as he spooned himself some beans, and I was confused for a moment because my uncle’s name is Kevin, not Jim. I didn’t comment. Somehow I knew that it wouldn’t have been wise. Someone probably would have called sus on me. Which would not have been muy bueno.

“Pretty good, from what I’ve heard. I ain’t tried it yet, so save some for me, Tim,” my uncle replied. I waited politely as Tim got his corn. By the time he was finished, the sheer amount of the golden kernels piled on his plate made the recycled paperboard structure wobble, but miraculously, he didn’t drop it. He twisted around and grinned at me toothily. I shrunk away from his gaze politely.

“How about that, eh?” Tim said. His teeth were crooked, and some were missing. For a moment I thought I caught a glimpse of a gold implant, but I blinked and it was gone. I simply nodded gingerly and clutched my plate and utensils  tighter to my chest, thoroughly creeped out.

I peeked over the edge to find that a singular piece of corn remained at the bottom of the crock pot. I despaired. I liked corn.

The old man moved along, not getting anything else besides a heaping pile of baked beans and a water from one of the coolers. He disappeared with his beans and corn after that. That was going to be one heck of an adventure for him in the bathroom later, I thought drily.

“Hey, kid. How ya doin? Haven’t seen you in a while,” my uncle asked me, punching me lightly in the arm like we were buddies. I couldn’t remember when that happened. I barely knew my uncle.

“Good. How abou–”

“WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE 21ST ANNUAL JAMES RIVER TRACK BANQUET!” a male’s voice boomed from a loudspeaker. It came from the fenced-in area. Everyone in the picnic shelter except the white-clad chili-dog-eating Einstein Super-Saiyan-haired gang turned towards the commotion.

My uncle sighed and shook his head like he’d witnessed this a thousand times. “They do that every year. It knocks your socks off,” he said.

I was about to comment on his old-timey vocabulary and how that phrase was usually used to describe overly-strong coffee when the scene melted and my uncle and the rest of the picnic shelter disappeared.

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giving the bros advice on how to get a girl is so funny. like why are you asking me. is it because i pull more girls than you???? i know honey. let me show you how it’s done

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day two of spooky writings

He stared at the axe held tight in his hands. Knuckles white as he gripped the worn handle. Fingers shaking as liquid crimson flowed down from the blade. Blood gleaming, shimmering, chittering and chattering the tale of his betrayal. Deadwrought steel cursed to taste the blood, of the wielder’s dearest, closest loved one. Tears stung his empty eyes, saltwater shining on wind-whipped cheeks. The fine, thick furs that adorned his shoulders shook with the cries that racked his body. He fell to his knees on the wooden platform, beside the body of his one and only love.

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creepy little piece I came up with

Her breath clouded thick in the biting air, the steel plate walls and glass windowpanes rimmed with creeping frost. Her heart thudded so loud she was sure the others could hear it. The things. The ones in the corners with the watching eyes, bloodshot, staring at her through the night. She sat in the middle of the frozen room, shaking hands frostbitten and wrapped around bony knees. Her fingers were blue, shifting to black, the never-ending sobs racking her body. The piercing cold bit deep to her bones, invading her clothes and her flesh and her blood. Her head lay limp, lank hair dangling, from a skull, empty of thoughts.

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Big fan of angels being autistic btw. "How does an entity like that have a neurological condition" Well they can act like that. Angels having traits that read as autistic. Incomprehensible being trying for their best mimicry of human behavior. You understand

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I always forget that “dinky” is a word. It is such a nice word. A very fun word.

“you’re so dinky”

“that outfit is so dinky”

“stop being dinky”

Then there’s the bastardized version of it where you say things like:

“looking dinkalicious today”

“dink on them haters”

“shut yo mouth you dink”

i love words. who needs friends when you have words.

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