Daddy’s Little Girl

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A little ditty I wrote for the 100_words comm, which I had to shave down to fit their word limit. This is the original, full version.

I sit quietly in my room, as the dark clouds begin to roll in and block out the sunlight. There’s a bone-deep chill in the air, and wind whips through the house with the acrid stench of smoke. The lights flicker, dim and then go out. In the distance, I can hear the electrical transformers exploding, rendering the entire town pitch black.

The wind howls, and I sense it. My father is here. He has finally come for me.

I open the door. His black, dead eyes seem to gleam momentarily with a wicked fiery light and his jacket smells of brimstone. “Come on, my sweet girl. It won’t be a party without you.”

I slip my hand into my father’s; his touch is cold yet comforting to me. And I am now ready to follow in his footsteps, into the family business. The end is here because we are here. Together, we’ll bring this world to its knees.


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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.