By Artie Margrave
I look at the viscous, red liquid in the teacup gripped in my whitened hands. There’s nothing wrong with it, except that it is blood, and the body I obtained it from is lying face down beside me. Dead. Rotting. There’s a gaping hole in the back of the body’s head, courtesy of the semiautomatic on my lap.
Multiple vibrant cries boom outside my sanctuary. They reek of the death they’re made from.
Living in this world is impossible. I’ve tried many means to end my life to no avail.
This way however… I raise the cup to my lips.
Visit Artie Margrave’s website at margraveshorrorplace.blogspot.com
His ebooks can be obtained at smashwords.com/profile/view/artiemargrave