Hi there.
Ok, you're here for one of two reasons.
One, you just stumbled upon this story with absolutely no idea who I am. If that's the case, then by all means, ignore this message and go on and read. This doesn't concern you.
Reason #2 is that you've been waiting for months on end for my Glitches story, which hasn't had an update in...forever, really. At least, that's what it feels like. The thing is, I'm taking a break from it.
Cue the panic and chaos that will undoubtedly ensue.
Well, I'm going to continue to write stories, but I'm not going to edit my Glitches story for a while now. I'll take a break and then go back to it. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but I just need time to think and for now the story is suspended. Again, I feel like this sucks, but I'm pretty much sitting in front of the computer staring at a blank screen for mere minutes, if I'm lucky, just trying to think.
Isn't writer's block wonderful?
Well, you didn't come here to hear me blab on and on about this nonsense. You came to enjoy the story (I hope). So, here it is:
Enjoy! :)
"Baby, listen to me very carefully, okay? I want you to hide under the bed." Her mother's voice was low and urgent as the young girl, no older than seven years of age, stared back, her childish eyes glinting with innocence, dark mocha orbs capturing the light in the dimly lit room, which reeked of cheap, poorly scented candles.
"What? Mom, what's wrong? Why are you so upset–?" The rest of the child's sentence was cut off as the scuffling of feet outside became audible and there was a murmur of panic, the howls of monsters lurking in the shadows. Her mother was scouring the room in a panic, shoving any spare rounds into her pockets and pulling on a jacket before grabbing her shotgun, which was perched against the doorframe. The youth's mother pulled her fiery red hair into a ponytail and opened her mouth to speak before a tall, well-built man ran towards them, a hand pressing against his light chocolate hair stressfully.
"Laura, dear, they're breaking through our front defenses. We need you out there!" he shouted at her, sparing his daughter a look with brown eyes, so dark they looked black, and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand before reloading a hunting rifle, readjusting the straps so it fit snugly over his shoulder, and sprinting out of the room and down the creaking stairs. Her mother scurried around then, her light, pine tree eyes shining as she pulled her child into a tight hug. She smelled earthy and fresh, like a fresh forest breeze at the crack of dawn, just before the birds have awoken and the sun had risen.
"Just stay here and be absolutely still. Your life depends on it." Immediately the girl's mouth opened in protest, but there was no words spoken, "Please, I don't have time to argue with you. Go now." She was fiercely desperate, and there was something tickling the younger girl's face, pressing against her cheekbone. Swatting absently at it and automatically assuming it was a fly, her hand came back wet, a watery, warm droplet glistening on her index finger.
It was a tear. Her mother was crying.
"Mom, I can go out there and help. I can fight–"
"No! Just stay here!" her mother raised her voice a little higher before adjusting her ratty shirt, "Just stay." In her hands lied a gleaming switchblade, and she grasped her daughter's wrist, handing her the blade and closing her fingers around it.
The little girl was left speechless as her mother raced out the door, leaving her parentless with nothing but the sound of screaming pain and the roars and thunders of the rain outside.