Realm of the Reaper: Dark Fiction Inspired By A Darker Reality

My writing is very personal. Even though it's fiction, it's born from the dark recesses of my mind and personal experiences. It comes from a place that the people around me can't get to. Don't get me wrong; I have an amazing support system, and therefore am better able to handle my depression than a lot of people. But when I go deep into myself in order to write, I don't take anyone with me. And while it needs to be that way, it can be lonely for me and isolating for my closest loved ones. So come fall, I spend my Sundays watching football. My husband is a die-hard Chicago Bears fan. Raised by a Chicagoan, I also grew up cheering for the Bears. Granted, when I met my husband, I knew little of the nuances of the game; I knew when the Bears scored a touchdown, and I got mad when they lost, but that was about it. Nearly 8 years into marriage now, however, football's become a big deal for me. Why? Because it's something I can share with my husband. It

He’s after me. The errant thought makes no sense. He can't be after me. He doesn't know me. Still, I run. My sneakers skid on the ancient tile, the squeal a harsh grate against the whining ping of ricocheting bullets. Slicked with cold sweat, my hand slips off the door knob. I fumble, manage to finally twist it. The door swings open. I reel through, turn, slam the door. Grope for the lock. Shit! The lock. Where’s the fucking lock? I spin around, my gaze darting frantically, searching for somewhere--anywhere--to hide. I have to hide! With no better option, I duck under the professor’s desk. My breath saws through my chest, its jagged teeth ripping at my ribs. Not so loud. He’ll hear. He’ll find you. He’s going to find me anyway. I bowled over Shelley. On my mad dash toward this illusion of safety. I heard her fall, but didn’t stop to look back. I should have looked back. Why didn't I look back? For fuck’s sake, why didn't I d