The stress seemed to have gathered at the front of his skull. It felt like his head was being crushed between two solid slabs of stone, the rough surfaces grating against his damp skin.
He clenched his jaw in anticipation of the next wave of pain, but this only intensified the pressure.
Closing his eyes he slowly got to his feet, pausing as his vision cleared and the room settled on its axis.
Why did he allow himself to feel like this?
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Digital Artist currently working on his first novel - The Sleeping Eye
It had been a dark and dismal day. The sun had not shone once and the clouds had parted.
One day a 6 year old girl went to her mum and asked if she could go to London bridge for a walk and her mum said yes but you need to be back at 6 o'clock. So she walked of london bridge.
I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more.
I'm sitting on a bus with people I've never met and probably never will. And yet, I'll see them again, I'll pass them on the street and won't bat an eye. Is that a bad thing.
I am a typical 14 year old girl, get on with school, hang out with my group of friends and play pranks on my evil brother ( I can swear he is going to be an evil professor when he's older!) Ever...
There is many a day where the weather is foul, not just miserable but in fact depressing, travelling as I often did along the moorland back roads I was beginning to get a sense of this, sitting damp...
To my fellow opuses. If you have been reading my Horror Stories, then you would be shocked to know that they were mostly true.
One grey, ugly, dark morning, a girl named Nicole strolled over to a graveyard to place flowers on her grandma's grave as it was her birthday.
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