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.

Muse 48: Hypocrite

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You are so small, he said. Where will you go and how will you get there with those feet? Someone can come and take you away, carry your small frame like the wind carries the leaves. All she could do was smile in reply, in agreement, as he rambled on about her size and frail form that would snap under any pressure. They walked, and he said, You need to be careful, you're so tiny that anyone could hurt you. He said this adamantly, and she merely smiled knowingly. They came to a fork in the road where he gave her a hug, Well here is where I say goodbye, and they parted, and she returned alone.