Thought i’d bump this and share a short scary story I wrote. Dont worry, its not graphic.
The Fleeting Shadows
Clara had always been a solitary figure, spending her days cloistered in her sunlit studio, buried in palettes of paints and canvases that chronicled her inner world. But lately, an unsettling air hung around her creations. Each morning, she’d stumble into the room, eagerly inspecting her latest work, only to find that the faces within had taken on a warped quality, twisted into ghastly versions of people she once knew. From old friends to fleeting acquaintances, their features morphed grotesquely, their expressive eyes now darkened with malice. The shift was subtle enough to rattle her sense of reality but potent enough to keep her staring in disbelief.
Driven by a cocktail of curiosity and dread, Clara found herself drawn to her easel, captivated by the grotesque allure of her changing portraits. She began to research the faces, poring over old photographs and social media profiles, hoping to find some connection, something to anchor her to the past. Yet, with each painted layer she peeled back, Clara was greeted not with clarity but with an increasingly distorted reflection of her memories. The joy of creation morphed into a peculiar obsession as she strove to understand why her past was haunting her present in such a relentless manner.
The more Clara painted, the more vivid her memories grew, unraveling dark threads that she had long tucked away. She recalled friendships that had soured, betrayals that stung, and moments of fleeting happiness that suddenly felt tainted. Those familiar faces now mocked her from the canvas, wearing masks of anguish and frustration, reminding her of an unresolved guilt that had burrowed deep into her psyche. With each brushstroke, the urge to confront her demons gnawed at her, whispering secrets she had buried beneath layers of denial.
One evening, determined to find answers, Clara rifled through her old journal, uncovering entries that seemed harmless at the time. As she read, her heart raced, and words spilled forth like confessions, detailing the fragments of her past. An eerie feeling washed over her as she stumbled upon passages about a friendship gone awry, a betrayal she had convinced herself was simply a misunderstanding. She realized with horror that she had crafted these twisted reflections, caught in the crosshairs of her subconscious, forcing her to relive the choices she thought were long buried.
With a newfound urgency, Clara turned her brush strokes into a cathartic spree of creation, an attempt to reclaim her narrative. Rather than shy away, she embraced the distorted faces, transforming her fears into haunting beauty on canvas. Each piece became a testament to her growth, peeling away the layers of trauma and allowing her to confront the realities of her past. In the end, Clara learned to channel her pain, turning her solitude into power. A reminder that sometimes, embracing the chaos of our memories is the only way to truly set ourselves free.
And yes this story is fully written by me. I’ll put kinda proof below
Proof
This is the document I wrote it on
