via Daily Prompt: Instinct
I don’t share my grief with people.
Call it instinct. Or call it pride.
Show of sympathy by others when I’m grieving is just that – a show. “I understand what you’ve been through…” No, you don’t. You are just trying to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but the words you speak are as genuine as Donald Trump’s tan.
When I’m grieving, leave me to myself. If you want to help, make a cup of tea.
Don’t give me the “There is a life after death”, “It was meant to be” bullshit. Please.
I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean you need to dumb down serious things like death for me. If it hurts, it hurts. No two ways about it.
I like my tablets like I like my words – without sugarcoating.
The rain pelted the ground like stones. The trees swayed with the wind, almost ready to topple. The full moon was glowing, like an epitome of hope in this dreary landscape. Amid these shadows, the figure moved.
It was tall and strong, with a rich brown coat, that was visible for a second in the moonlight. Its fangs, dripping with blood, was akin to the lightening flashing in the sky. And then, it howled. A howl so loud that it echoed throughout the country side. It was heart-numbing. A low growl, at the sight of prey.Then hurried footsteps, a scream, a pounce, and a thud. Contended eating, when – BANG.
Busy eating, the werewolf had missed the low crunch of footsteps. It howled; in sorrow, pain, rage, distress. Then another BANG. Another howl, destined to be its last. A thud. The rain pelted the ground like stones.
For the Writing Challenge.