#horror365 — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #horror365, aggregated by home.social.
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#horror365 - #mausoleum
The mausoleum lay in the garden. Carved, worn and mossy. Leaning, as though dropped and left. The earth reclaiming the bracken covered house of the dead. Susan lay within, his wife of half a century, beside forgotten generations. Susan wasn't there, Warren knew. Not any more. He couldn't let go. His home the same - damp and subsiding. He too soon to leave. The children had gone. But they couldn't let go. He, in his tomb soon forgotten. -
A dead limb hung precariously outside Rebecca’s window. Despite the bitter cold and driving snow, she’d opened the window.
She rocked the #cradle, staring into the eyes of an infant son.
The branch snapped and gave way. She sang, without neither joy nor remorse.
“Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
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A dead limb hung precariously outside Rebecca’s window. Despite the bitter cold and driving snow, she’d opened the window.
She rocked the #cradle, staring into the eyes of an infant son.
The branch snapped and gave way. She sang, without neither joy nor remorse.
“Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
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A dead limb hung precariously outside Rebecca’s window. Despite the bitter cold and driving snow, she’d opened the window.
She rocked the #cradle, staring into the eyes of an infant son.
The branch snapped and gave way. She sang, without neither joy nor remorse.
“Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
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A dead limb hung precariously outside Rebecca’s window. Despite the bitter cold and driving snow, she’d opened the window.
She rocked the #cradle, staring into the eyes of an infant son.
The branch snapped and gave way. She sang, without neither joy nor remorse.
“Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
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A dead limb hung precariously outside Rebecca’s window. Despite the bitter cold and driving snow, she’d opened the window.
She rocked the #cradle, staring into the eyes of an infant son.
The branch snapped and gave way. She sang, without neither joy nor remorse.
“Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
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Soulless lines
AI poetry flows free
Industry cheers#Horror365 #Soulless
#Haiku #Senyru #FreeHaiku @freehaiku
#AI #Poetry #poetrycommunity -
Golden dusk
Behold boundless beauty
Bleak soulless#Horror365 #Soulless #Horror #DarkPoetry #PhychologicalHorror
#DailyHaikuPrompt #Dusk
#Haiku #Senyru #FreeHaiku @freehaiku2/2
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I sat on the porch and looked out. The sunset glowed orange, slowly being replaced by the glow of fireflies in the dusk gloom. It was a sight to warm the most barren soul. And I had all eternity to enjoy it. Yes, eternity, for I was immortal. Barring some untold calamity, I could not die. A gift dearly bought. Eternity traded for my soul. Yes, the sight would warm the most barren soul. #Haibun
#Horror365 #Soulless #Horror #PhychologicalHorror
#MastoPrompt #Orange
#MicroFiction #SmallStory
1/2 -
Were my soul less trampled upon…
I might stand up and be counted.
I might raise my voice in the void and listen to the infinite nothings being whispered.
I might fight the tears that well up so far down in my minds eyes that they can never reach the surface.
I might answer a call to arms, bare teeth, and cry out at the wilderness; paint a desert so lush that the actions of its people will bear fruit.So please, kick me while I’m down.
#horror365 #souless #horror #writing #grrmf -
Were my soul less trampled upon…
I might stand up and be counted.
I might raise my voice in the void and listen to the infinite nothings being whispered.
I might fight the tears that well up so far down in my minds eyes that they can never reach the surface.
I might answer a call to arms, bare teeth, and cry out at the wilderness; paint a desert so lush that the actions of its people will bear fruit.So please, kick me while I’m down.
#horror365 #souless #horror #writing #grrmf -
Were my soul less trampled upon…
I might stand up and be counted.
I might raise my voice in the void and listen to the infinite nothings being whispered.
I might fight the tears that well up so far down in my minds eyes that they can never reach the surface.
I might answer a call to arms, bare teeth, and cry out at the wilderness; paint a desert so lush that the actions of its people will bear fruit.So please, kick me while I’m down.
#horror365 #souless #horror #writing #grrmf -
Were my soul less trampled upon…
I might stand up and be counted.
I might raise my voice in the void and listen to the infinite nothings being whispered.
I might fight the tears that well up so far down in my minds eyes that they can never reach the surface.
I might answer a call to arms, bare teeth, and cry out at the wilderness; paint a desert so lush that the actions of its people will bear fruit.So please, kick me while I’m down.
#horror365 #souless #horror #writing #grrmf -
Were my soul less trampled upon…
I might stand up and be counted.
I might raise my voice in the void and listen to the infinite nothings being whispered.
I might fight the tears that well up so far down in my minds eyes that they can never reach the surface.
I might answer a call to arms, bare teeth, and cry out at the wilderness; paint a desert so lush that the actions of its people will bear fruit.So please, kick me while I’m down.
#horror365 #souless #horror #writing #grrmf -
Every word you spoke lacked #substance. Even more so after you died. You now babble incessantly about how I've wronged you, such that even my pigs won't sup upon your corpse.
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Every word you spoke lacked #substance. Even more so after you died. You now babble incessantly about how I've wronged you, such that even my pigs won't sup upon your corpse.
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Every word you spoke lacked #substance. Even more so after you died. You now babble incessantly about how I've wronged you, such that even my pigs won't sup upon your corpse.
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Every word you spoke lacked #substance. Even more so after you died. You now babble incessantly about how I've wronged you, such that even my pigs won't sup upon your corpse.
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Every word you spoke lacked #substance. Even more so after you died. You now babble incessantly about how I've wronged you, such that even my pigs won't sup upon your corpse.
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CW: Horror Story
A barred #owl cried out, “Who cooks for you! Who cooks for you!”
No one, he thought. Not any more anyways. Now, I cook for myself. Yes, the life of a bachelor.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. That was the last of her.
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CW: Horror Story
A barred #owl cried out, “Who cooks for you! Who cooks for you!”
No one, he thought. Not any more anyways. Now, I cook for myself. Yes, the life of a bachelor.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. That was the last of her.
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CW: Horror Story
A barred #owl cried out, “Who cooks for you! Who cooks for you!”
No one, he thought. Not any more anyways. Now, I cook for myself. Yes, the life of a bachelor.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. That was the last of her.
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CW: Horror Story
A barred #owl cried out, “Who cooks for you! Who cooks for you!”
No one, he thought. Not any more anyways. Now, I cook for myself. Yes, the life of a bachelor.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. That was the last of her.
-
CW: Horror Story
A barred #owl cried out, “Who cooks for you! Who cooks for you!”
No one, he thought. Not any more anyways. Now, I cook for myself. Yes, the life of a bachelor.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. That was the last of her.
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CW: Horror Story
Her legs were bound to a barstool, the bite of rope on her ankles and thighs. She let out a scream, but the sound was muffled by a funnel, strapped in place; the tip forcing her mouth open.
She could only recall the bartender in stills as if he were an extra, buried behind a crowd in a film.
In his hand was a white bottle, that chlorine smell burned in her nostrils. She sobbed as he poured the shot.
"Last call," he said.
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CW: Horror Story
Her legs were bound to a barstool, the bite of rope on her ankles and thighs. She let out a scream, but the sound was muffled by a funnel, strapped in place; the tip forcing her mouth open.
She could only recall the bartender in stills as if he were an extra, buried behind a crowd in a film.
In his hand was a white bottle, that chlorine smell burned in her nostrils. She sobbed as he poured the shot.
"Last call," he said.
-
CW: Horror Story
Her legs were bound to a barstool, the bite of rope on her ankles and thighs. She let out a scream, but the sound was muffled by a funnel, strapped in place; the tip forcing her mouth open.
She could only recall the bartender in stills as if he were an extra, buried behind a crowd in a film.
In his hand was a white bottle, that chlorine smell burned in her nostrils. She sobbed as he poured the shot.
"Last call," he said.
-
CW: Horror Story
Her legs were bound to a barstool, the bite of rope on her ankles and thighs. She let out a scream, but the sound was muffled by a funnel, strapped in place; the tip forcing her mouth open.
She could only recall the bartender in stills as if he were an extra, buried behind a crowd in a film.
In his hand was a white bottle, that chlorine smell burned in her nostrils. She sobbed as he poured the shot.
"Last call," he said.
-
CW: Horror Story
Her legs were bound to a barstool, the bite of rope on her ankles and thighs. She let out a scream, but the sound was muffled by a funnel, strapped in place; the tip forcing her mouth open.
She could only recall the bartender in stills as if he were an extra, buried behind a crowd in a film.
In his hand was a white bottle, that chlorine smell burned in her nostrils. She sobbed as he poured the shot.
"Last call," he said.
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CW: Religious Horror Story
Being in the employ of hell is often confused with having sold one's soul. It confounds many that—as a #snare for acquisition of the souls of others—I might retain my own.
There is a reason I don't live in fear of damnation; the debt of sin may be repaid in the currency of contrition. Is our Lord not the same who made of Augustine a saint? And did Augustine not write, "Lord, grant me chastity and temperance, but not yet?"
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CW: Religious Horror Story
Being in the employ of hell is often confused with having sold one's soul. It confounds many that—as a #snare for acquisition of the souls of others—I might retain my own.
There is a reason I don't live in fear of damnation; the debt of sin may be repaid in the currency of contrition. Is our Lord not the same who made of Augustine a saint? And did Augustine not write, "Lord, grant me chastity and temperance, but not yet?"
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CW: Religious Horror Story
Being in the employ of hell is often confused with having sold one's soul. It confounds many that—as a #snare for acquisition of the souls of others—I might retain my own.
There is a reason I don't live in fear of damnation; the debt of sin may be repaid in the currency of contrition. Is our Lord not the same who made of Augustine a saint? And did Augustine not write, "Lord, grant me chastity and temperance, but not yet?"
-
CW: Religious Horror Story
Being in the employ of hell is often confused with having sold one's soul. It confounds many that—as a #snare for acquisition of the souls of others—I might retain my own.
There is a reason I don't live in fear of damnation; the debt of sin may be repaid in the currency of contrition. Is our Lord not the same who made of Augustine a saint? And did Augustine not write, "Lord, grant me chastity and temperance, but not yet?"
-
CW: Religious Horror Story
Being in the employ of hell is often confused with having sold one's soul. It confounds many that—as a #snare for acquisition of the souls of others—I might retain my own.
There is a reason I don't live in fear of damnation; the debt of sin may be repaid in the currency of contrition. Is our Lord not the same who made of Augustine a saint? And did Augustine not write, "Lord, grant me chastity and temperance, but not yet?"
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CW: Horror Story
"Those boys been riding for a #fall for a long time now," sheriff Buckner said.
The brown spittle ran from his lips, down the side of the translucent green soda bottle.
His eyes had warped in the sun. It was strange. But I’d seen it in the eyes of everyone in Temeprance.
"Chaff from wheat, agent Barnes," he added.
The light in his eyes wasn’t a reflection but a fierce glow; his words weren't a statement but a warning.
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CW: Horror Story
"Those boys been riding for a #fall for a long time now," sheriff Buckner said.
The brown spittle ran from his lips, down the side of the translucent green soda bottle.
His eyes had warped in the sun. It was strange. But I’d seen it in the eyes of everyone in Temeprance.
"Chaff from wheat, agent Barnes," he added.
The light in his eyes wasn’t a reflection but a fierce glow; his words weren't a statement but a warning.
-
CW: Horror Story
"Those boys been riding for a #fall for a long time now," sheriff Buckner said.
The brown spittle ran from his lips, down the side of the translucent green soda bottle.
His eyes had warped in the sun. It was strange. But I’d seen it in the eyes of everyone in Temeprance.
"Chaff from wheat, agent Barnes," he added.
The light in his eyes wasn’t a reflection but a fierce glow; his words weren't a statement but a warning.
-
CW: Horror Story
"Those boys been riding for a #fall for a long time now," sheriff Buckner said.
The brown spittle ran from his lips, down the side of the translucent green soda bottle.
His eyes had warped in the sun. It was strange. But I’d seen it in the eyes of everyone in Temeprance.
"Chaff from wheat, agent Barnes," he added.
The light in his eyes wasn’t a reflection but a fierce glow; his words weren't a statement but a warning.
-
CW: Horror Story
"Those boys been riding for a #fall for a long time now," sheriff Buckner said.
The brown spittle ran from his lips, down the side of the translucent green soda bottle.
His eyes had warped in the sun. It was strange. But I’d seen it in the eyes of everyone in Temeprance.
"Chaff from wheat, agent Barnes," he added.
The light in his eyes wasn’t a reflection but a fierce glow; his words weren't a statement but a warning.
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CW: Horror Story
My cane pattered in lockstep with my awkward gate.
"We must hunt It down. It's taken ten already. My poor Lenore...your leg," Borges said.
It’d merely had made an aperitif of me, not a meal.
"We don't need to hunt. I've found it's lair," I replied.
A puzzled expression past over his face. He looked at the sheath of my cane sword on the ground, then to where I’d pierced his tainted heart.
"The #beast lies within you, sir."
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CW: Horror Story
My cane pattered in lockstep with my awkward gate.
"We must hunt It down. It's taken ten already. My poor Lenore...your leg," Borges said.
It’d merely had made an aperitif of me, not a meal.
"We don't need to hunt. I've found it's lair," I replied.
A puzzled expression past over his face. He looked at the sheath of my cane sword on the ground, then to where I’d pierced his tainted heart.
"The #beast lies within you, sir."
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CW: Horror Story
My cane pattered in lockstep with my awkward gate.
"We must hunt It down. It's taken ten already. My poor Lenore...your leg," Borges said.
It’d merely had made an aperitif of me, not a meal.
"We don't need to hunt. I've found it's lair," I replied.
A puzzled expression past over his face. He looked at the sheath of my cane sword on the ground, then to where I’d pierced his tainted heart.
"The #beast lies within you, sir."
-
CW: Horror Story
My cane pattered in lockstep with my awkward gate.
"We must hunt It down. It's taken ten already. My poor Lenore...your leg," Borges said.
It’d merely had made an aperitif of me, not a meal.
"We don't need to hunt. I've found it's lair," I replied.
A puzzled expression past over his face. He looked at the sheath of my cane sword on the ground, then to where I’d pierced his tainted heart.
"The #beast lies within you, sir."
-
CW: Horror Story
My cane pattered in lockstep with my awkward gate.
"We must hunt It down. It's taken ten already. My poor Lenore...your leg," Borges said.
It’d merely had made an aperitif of me, not a meal.
"We don't need to hunt. I've found it's lair," I replied.
A puzzled expression past over his face. He looked at the sheath of my cane sword on the ground, then to where I’d pierced his tainted heart.
"The #beast lies within you, sir."
-
CW: Horror Story
The saying goes, home is where the heart is. I've found this statement to be true. And the beating heart of my home is my cellar.
And within there are the decaying hearts of thr countless bodies I've disposed of. Are they not now home too?
And with every new heart, this house feels more and more a home.
#horrorprompt #horror #horror365 #microfiction #writing #amWriting #writingprompt #grrmf
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CW: Horror Story
The saying goes, home is where the heart is. I've found this statement to be true. And the beating heart of my home is my cellar.
And within there are the decaying hearts of thr countless bodies I've disposed of. Are they not now home too?
And with every new heart, this house feels more and more a home.
#horrorprompt #horror #horror365 #microfiction #writing #amWriting #writingprompt #grrmf
-
CW: Horror Story
The saying goes, home is where the heart is. I've found this statement to be true. And the beating heart of my home is my cellar.
And within there are the decaying hearts of thr countless bodies I've disposed of. Are they not now home too?
And with every new heart, this house feels more and more a home.
#horrorprompt #horror #horror365 #microfiction #writing #amWriting #writingprompt #grrmf
-
CW: Horror Story
The saying goes, home is where the heart is. I've found this statement to be true. And the beating heart of my home is my cellar.
And within there are the decaying hearts of thr countless bodies I've disposed of. Are they not now home too?
And with every new heart, this house feels more and more a home.
#horrorprompt #horror #horror365 #microfiction #writing #amWriting #writingprompt #grrmf
-
CW: Horror Story
The saying goes, home is where the heart is. I've found this statement to be true. And the beating heart of my home is my cellar.
And within there are the decaying hearts of thr countless bodies I've disposed of. Are they not now home too?
And with every new heart, this house feels more and more a home.
#horrorprompt #horror #horror365 #microfiction #writing #amWriting #writingprompt #grrmf