Storygram #174
The path we somehow stumbled onto turns into a tunnel formed by intertwined trees and vines, the sun poking at whatever holes it can find. It’s unsettling. There seems to be a strange darkness here that I can’t articulate, only feel.
Storygram #171
Forks wielded by the children scraped the plates in a scarfing frenzy. They didn’t know the reason for all the food. They simply accepted it, knowing nothing of what was coming.
Storygram #164
She opened her eyes. A bright light was blaring down at her, concealing the rest of the room behind a curtain of darkness. Her ankles and wrists were trapped under thick straps. She struggled to free her right hand from its strap but paused when a silhouetted figure blocked out a portion of the light.
Storygram #130
I heard of a place called the Striking Tree, where lightning from a mysterious storm cloud strikes the tree every hour. They said that’s where I had to go, if I wanted to find my worth.
Storygram #100
In the home of William Oliver Knox, there were no city lights to stream through the windows and no busy streets to fill the air with noise. At night his home did its best to eradicate the safety of human companionship.