The Devil’s Playground

I approached the wrought iron gates to the cemetery.  They were ornate beyond necessity: filigreeing and pointing and posing in every which way.  But that didn’t distract from the truth.  Existing in the empty spaces between each constructed spindle, the cavity atop each pointed diamond shape, the voids swirling in and around each perfectly curled piece of metal were the gateways to hell.  The doorway for the demons and ghosts and curses that are the haunting of each and every one of us until our dying days.  Those spaces, each emptiness a playground for the devil himself.

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Victorious

As she washed the blood from her hands, she finally realised the full extent of what she had done.  She regarded his body as it lay limp on top of the now blood soaked wooden table and dared it to move.  But it didn’t, couldn’t.  The now sliced open chest was still.  She had finally done it, and now it was over.  She had told him often enough that he would be hers, had promised time and time again, though he had never believed it.  But as she watched his heart lying still, hers at last, she smiled, victorious.