p5ych1c-drag0n

Footsteps could be heard, clicking on the tile floor. The little girl clutched at her arms, eyes clamped shut as those clicks drew ever nearer. She huddled further into her corner, back pressed against the walls – quivering with fear. Who was it? There – a shadow could be seen, just outside the door. Feeling the darkness overwhelm her, thoughts raced through her mind – her home, toys, her friends who played with her everyday. She didn't want to forget… The door slid open and a glowing silhouette stood at the opening, towering above the little girl. She cowered, further in, as a black hand reached inside – groping at the walls. The light beh

Millions of pairs of eyes were focused intently on his every move, the cool air making the torrents of sweat all the more apparent as they poured down the sides of his face and onto his back. Wet hair and baggy clothes clung to the pale skin, piercing grey eyes glued to the person in front of him. His toes twitched and his feet sank even further into the valley of the sky-blue mattress. Panting heavily, he tried to calm himself down, but it was of no use. Gulping and leaning forward, he readied himself, bracing for the imminent impact. Elbows bent at perfect angles – as had been drilled so many times before – were held at the hip. Then, with

All was silent. The air, cold as ice and pitch black, like an abyss. The trees – withered with age as they were – sheltered the numerous animals of the day and gave perfect cover to those of the night. The bushes swayed with the gentle breeze, but made no sound. Small fireflies could be seen, whispering secrets with their flickering lights – lighting up the many leaves of the trees they inhabited. The larger creatures laid in wait for morning – early as always – deathly still. As the first, golden rays of the sun shone through a soft, faint light could be seen – hiding among the trees. The late predators lifted their heads and gazed at that s

"You shouldn't pick on the weak." The cold voice instantly silenced the crowds clustered around him. The assailant groaned, clutching his arm, as though he was about to die. The tan of his skin almost shone with the glinting blade held in front of him. The large, double-t scar on his right cheek had faded with age but still stood out clearly from the soft, silver bangs that flowed, like a river, down the gentle slope of his face and shoulders. Leering from those very bangs were two piercing grey eyes, focused – almost glaring – at the numerous bodies around him. With his knees bent and body tensed, he turned to the small boy behind him. "Why