Muse 112: Until they died.

found via tumblrpost

The first set of scans said he was okay. He was lucky. His wife replied thank you before she brought him home, bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs for support. He was asked to come back in a two weeks for a second check-up; for another x-ray scan that would rack up the numbers on his credit card. So when his wife asked about the coming appointment, he told her he felt fine. He didn't have to go anywhere, not when it cost so much just to stay alive. He reassured her that he felt fine, even pressed onto his ribcage and held in the cough to delay the illusion, and smiled. Smiles work for everything as long as you hold them up long enough. He waited a few more seconds and refreshed his lips with a strain. 

She believed him until he started coughing red. 

Muse 99: Stories We Tell

found via weheartit

I was eight when I heard my first ghost story. It was worse than riding a roller coaster, worse than sitting alone in the dark, wondering if my parents remembered where I was. My cousin sat across from me, in broad daylight, with a bowl of cereal in front of her, as she told me about the dumb little girl that didn't know what laid in the dark. As soon as the story ended, I began that little girl, wary of shadows, crying when the blackness crept towards me. I cuddled with my blankets and hid underneath its comfort until I forgot about the stories. But the stories were warnings. Soon I forgot all about the ghosts in the darkness and wanted to walk in, wanted to bring light where the shadows were. The stories were told too early, she should've told me later, because in those stories, the ghosts always win.