The Watcher and the Figure

Home Sweet Home

The television is vibrating. Something is inside of it. The television stopped moving. The screen is open and ready to play whatever the owner wants. The next person would be the one. The little girl only want to get out of the television. Footsteps could be heard not far away. The television is on, someone is watching it. The tape is playing as well and the little girl can finally come out and play. The well is empty, but something is coming out of it. something is talking in nonsense words, making long and short noise to assure her present to the watcher. The screen is switching to something darker, something that can't be fight or can't be touched. Something that is there but not there at the same time. The dead end to an empty road, the dead of night to a day full of light without the bright colors. Fear and Death are present to celebrate the watcher. The hand reaching for the victim of the silence, grabbing the back of your head, grabbing your hair and pulling them down without you even notice it. The coldest of the ice, the hottest of the fire and still speaking in nonsense. The well was empty but somehow the water is dripping on the ground. The figure is walking towards the watcher. A hand grabbing your ankles while you sleep, under the hot blanket it would hurt. The figure is in a long white sleeping dress and she is soaking wet. Her long black hair are falling in front of her face facing the ground. The noise is still present. The watcher isn't moving, or sleeping. The figure is a person, a someone in this meaningless life. Somehow the watcher want more but without telling anyone, the figure is moving faster and faster again. The watcher is moving as well, but it's too late. The figure is passing through the glass and now it's on the other side. It disappeared in the wind, moving through the breath you take, moving through your veins and you bones, it's there but where. The watcher is getting away with a vision of horror of the figure with the long black hair. The figure is there, but where. Here, just beside the watcher. The watcher is on the ground, he seeing the tall figure which is on front of him. The figure reveal her face and only to be two black eyes and a creepy smile. The hands of the figure are behind the watcher's head and his hair are getting intertwine in the demon's fingers. But the demon isn't moving, still standing at the same place the watcher is yelling of pain, yelling for someone to come and help him but nothing. The figure took the watcher to the glass where she would make him her own. The figure is passing through the glass with the watcher, nothing can be done at the very moment. Alone ,the watcher is her's now, for ever.