Sometimes Hate Comes From The Fact That You Do It All By Yourself. People Love It When You Beg Them.
THE LAST ONE
I found a picture tucked inside a book.
It was my childhood bedroom.
But there was someone in the corner.
I don’t know them.
I don’t think they were ever supposed to be there.
I hear footsteps outside my door.
They stop.
Then—
breathing.
Close.
Waiting.
And this last part?
Maybe you shouldn’t read it out loud.
Sometimes the most dangerous thing
is letting it have a voice.
#MidnightWriting
THE CANDLE
Someone gave me a candle and told me never to let it burn down to the end.
I asked why.
They said,
“Because it’s not the flame you should fear.”
I laughed.
They didn’t.
So I lit it.
The flame burned strangely.
No smoke.
No flicker.
Just a perfectly still light.
Then I noticed something.
The candle wasn’t getting shorter.
It was getting taller.
I watched the wax rise.
And somewhere behind me, someone whispered:
“Keep it burning.”
I turned around.
Nothing.
The flame grew.
The room grew colder.
Then I understood.
The candle wasn’t consuming itself.
It was consuming something else.
Something I couldn’t see.
I blew it out.
The room went completely dark.
And from somewhere in the darkness, a voice whispered:
“Why did you stop feeding me?”
#MidnightWriting