GuardianBelikov1918

Death is always uncertain. There unanswered questions that float around, never to be answered. People can never know the answers until they themselves are dead. But yet they cannot answer. For their voices are as dead to us as them. Unheard voices that we ourselves can never answer in return. The questions that remain in the wake of death. They flood the ones that are anticipating their end, the blackness that surround them. It suffocates them and cages them from the living world. Pitch black will surround everyone and everything. The single question is when it will. Everyone is merely a candle in the room of the Grim Reaper. His bony fin

Cheerful laughter rang through the marble hallways. A woman ran around the corner, her shoes clicking on the pristine tiles. The hem of her silver summer dress flapped against her legs furiously. Her hair streaming behind her, eyes shining with joy. A man appeared from behind, giving chase. His chocolate brown hair disheveled from running. He stopped, evidently out of breath. "How long can you run?" he called out. He started running after her again. His legs were weary with the long chase. "Forever if I have to!" she called back, giggling slightly. Her foot suddenly caught on the corner of a rug, sending her sliding across the floor. He cau