Three Piles of White Ash

my revised scary story for hnrs. eng. I. tell me if you like it!!!

Curtained in long lashes and eyelids shadowed in black, the woman's eyes were closed. She lay on the floor of the forest, the dead, lifeless trees stretching into eternity before her. Her bloodless face the palest of whites and her body covered in a ruby red cloak. Her long hair, tangled with twigs and leaves, fell about her face. Lips the color of blood whispering to the grey sky, dusk approaching as quick as the desperate whispers; she was whispering.
The man watched her seemingly lifeless body, waiting for her to breathe. She is whispering, he thought. She is whispering, but not breathing. It didn't seem possible, but there she lay, still as a lifeless corpse, whispering without breathe. He gasped as she sat up. He watched, enticed by her beautiful face to look onwards; he admired the perfect face.
She looked at him through her closed eyelids, but suddenly that sight was not enough. She stood up. She opened her eyes, expecting to see his horrified face turn and run. He stood still watching her, his face even. She saw more clearly his face, his closed eyes. She gazed, shocked.
He saw her eyes and felt the urge to run. They were the same kind. He approached her, touching her face as it hung awkwardly from her neck in the position of a dead person, touching her face around her white eyes. She responded by touching his closed eyelids and swerving uncomfortably, disturbingly. He ignored the burn he felt when he touched her skin.
She watched with certain fascination as he opened his eyes. She looked into the whiteness that lay between his eyelids. She felt the burn where he touched her face. Her red lips pressed into a smile, the burning felt good. She reveled in the touch of his long, elegant fingers. She picked a twig from his dark, tangled hair. She ran her fingers along his red lips. She barely noted that his head was hanging awkwardly from his neck. Watching his face with an upsetting amount of attentiveness, she did not notice the moon rising.
But, then, he did not see the moon rise either; he saw nothing but her glorious face.

OKAY... i'll post the rest later... i got dance!!!

Because sometimes, all you need is a dream...

And this story, here, is the fulfillment of simple things I've always wanted to do. I've always wanted to dance on the rain, and go to camp on a farm, and have to wear 'girly' clothes (I know that's a stretch, but sometimes I'd love to pull off being kind of Indie), and manage all these guy friends (NOT something I'm good at), and have this poetic ability to step back when I really would like to snap a certain annoyance's head off. This is the embodiment of dreams. My FAV <3


The rain pattered on my roof. I looked at Jane, my best friend, sleeping on the couch in my room. I saw the rain racing down the window in crystalline streams. I looked back at Jane, then out the window. I made my decision and pushed up the window stepping out on the roof. Scaling down the terrace, I wondered what Jane would think when she saw my bed was empty. Maybe I’d be back by then. The rain was cold and wet and felt so good on my skin. I stepped out the back gate and into the alleyway, twirling in the rain.
The moon wasn’t covered by the rain; rather it was amplified by the rain. I spun around with my eyes closed at the droplets fell down my arms, legs, and torso; I breathed deeply. After waking up from the haze, I slid back into my backyard and climbed the terrace to return sitting on my roof. Jane knocked on the window. I smiled and waved for her to come out.
“Hey there, I was wondering where you went,” she said, climbing out. “Dancing in the rain?”
“Yeah, just did it impulsively,” I said. Jane looked at me as if I were crazy. Maybe I was. She smiled softly. “Look,” I pointed. “There’s Matt.” I pointed to a car’s dimmed lights pulling into the driveway down the street.
“There’s Matt,” she echoed. The rain pulsed her hair into her face and I brushed it away.
“You missed him, didn’t you,” I commented. She nodded, blinking fast. “Don’t worry, he’s here now.”
“Yeah, I’m glad he is.”
“Let’s go back inside, Jane,” I suggested. “I need to change.”
“Same here,” she said quietly.
With that, we climbed back down into my room and grabbed towels from my bathroom.
“What’s it feel like?” I whispered.
“What?” she asked, surprised.
“Love. Remind me,” I replied.
“It’s like – whenever he sees me, he smiles so wide and you can see that he really is happy to see me. And whenever he claims me as his, my chest puffs out like a rooster’s and I can’t contain my happiness; I feel so happy just to know that I love him.” Jane looked at me and touched my shoulder. “He was a jerk, Claude. Forget him.”
“Kind of hard to,” I said bitterly. “He was my first. He’s still mad for no reason at all. Guess he can’t get over it. I’d like to be friends like we were.”
“It’s Tom, Claudia,” she tried to console my guilt. “Tom never gets over anything.”

Comments? Questions? Need for plot development? Email me, txt me, COMMENT!!!!
Much Love,
Asiat