#thedeadauthor

[thedeadauthor]

Blood In the Snow | A Short Story

cw: blood, death.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what it feels like to bleed out in the snow? All alone with only your thoughts and the pain to "comfort" you?..

A short story written by The Dead Author

A long breath crawls out from between my lips as I hurdle through the thick cold. Masses upon masses of the freezing white pull on my legs, pushing me five steps back with every two I dare take.

The world has reached temperatures beyond cold, a sensation so petrifying to my skin that I barely react to the piercing trauma anymore. I am numb all over. The occasional blows of wind and ice do nothing but further irritate my burning flesh.

And then there is the pain. Agonizing and tortuous, like the impalement of a thousand blades. The throbbing pain in my abdomen pushes and squeezes my exposed organs in unbelievable ways, so much that I find myself slipping from consciousness every now and then.

It punches and stings, deep in my flesh, and causes me agony beyond a human’s capacity of imagination. With my arms tightly pressed against the hole in my stomach, I try to get the pain under control. But just like the blazing midnight blizzard it reigns over my body in vast and uncontrollable ways.

I do not know what it is that forces me to push forward. An unknown force or a cry deep within my soul. Perhaps there is no solid reason, as men at heart are truly foolish, seeing vibrant colors when the scenery is painted gray and blue.

One leg after the other strides forward, past its limits and further beyond..just away from where I came from.

Cold is the air, have I mentioned that before? It is difficult to tell what is real and what is but a figment of my imagination in these conditions.

The pouring snow threatened to bury him alive in its masses and the seeping pain from his wound did not do him any favors either. All that was certain was his demise.

I am going to die here.

One should be more devastated when faced with certain death, yet I find myself unfazed, as this outcome was all too predictable. The very instant that knife met my flesh, the clock of my last moments started ticking.

Bleeding out in the snow, how romantic, is it not? With no one to save or hear me. No one to relieve me from this misery or give me warmth in these so cold moments.

I chuckle. Not because of the absurdness of the situation or to keep face in front of my demons. I do it because I cannot help myself but find this all so amusing. A fool digs a hole and ends up falling in himself. From the very moment she whispered poison into my ear I should have realized that there was no other ending to this story.

The fool is me and so is the shovel and the hole and the moral of the joke. A rhyme?

My eyes once again attempt to peer into the distance. This time I am met with a more promising view– a horizon that is illuminated by subtle sparks of light. A town perhaps?

When we drove by the forest two days ago, the scenery blended in with the world just perfectly. We moved fast, the speed limit of no interest to us.

Before I knew it we had arrived at the place I mistook for the heavens, a small cabin amidst the forest's depths. To think that I have made it so far in this weakened state, from the bushes to the asphalt, the human spirit was truly astonishing.

The night is so peaceful and quiet, eerie to the ears of the innocent. But I have listened to such silence before, a silence so out of place and weird, it pulls on your sanity. I have long embraced it and if it was not for my death, I would have found myself enjoying it.

My body can no longer hold up in these conditions. Every step taken brings me closer to certain doom and the realisation slowly begins to manifest in my consciousness

I do not want to die, I do not!

My body shivers all over, in desperate hope to accumulate some type of heat– anything! What was previously known to me as a freezing cold has long overstepped those bounds.

Seventeen years of existence and I have nothing to show for. As I look down on my hands all I see is the bleeding red, stains of failure and wrong doings even the snow cannot wash away. The frost bites that are taking on a revolting, black hue.

Will I die a failure? Will I perish as a nobody? Just another body to the world and the last victim of that psychotic woman who I blindly followed here.

I will surely meet her in hell.

Minutes pass by, or perhaps even hours. My consciousness is no more, only a hollow vessel of what once used to be my body. My skin has turned numb and pale, a sickening blue that strikes my heart with fear and concern.

It hurts, it hurts so much.

I have lost the ability to cry, to feel anything, really.

It burns all over my skin in ways that can only be described by the ear piercing screams I find myself generating. my

I don't want to die mom..please…

All of a sudden my limbs stop shaking, despite the snow not subsiding around me.

My mothers gentle fingers brush over my skin as she urges me to lay down with her in the snow. Her touch is warm and kind, comforting in ways only a mother could perform. As I meet her gaze, her face morphs into one with the woman's..but I do not mind. They share the same brown hair and eyes that know me all too well.

It is all the same to me now.

My blood crystallized in the snow, painting the blank canvas red. I have been leaving traces of myself behind all along, the stained snow following me from the thick forest down to the beginning of this small town.

I am in a state of pain that can only mean death. Can I at least be given the privilege of tears?

Alone in an unknown town, eaten by the gluttonous snowfall. My blood continues to stain the white, long after I succumb to the cold.

My body remains there, unmoving, to be found by the people once the sun rises. My mother will cry the tears that were taken from me by the cold and mourn my death for years to come. But the world? It will see me as something they can devour and dream about, a distant fantasy– a wish.

Well, it is all blood in the snow.

[yoredoesmore]

"existing in the smallest corner of the universe.."

˚⊹YORE WELCOMES YOU ♡

call me yore! (main: @thedeadauthor ), this is my side account for the funnsies, she/they, big fat hoshina admirer ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

˚⊹ i write one-shots, drabbles and headcanons about my favorite characters! mostly fem reader but if you guys request something specific I'm open for anything ^^

♡˚⊹ this account will be completely different from my main so please don't expect any dark content! (unless i feel a lil freaky) not a smut writer but sometimes the parasite takes over ;0

⋆𐙚 LINKS – BYF/DNI • masterlist •

enjoy your stay!!

[belindarimbi13]

be narcissistic to annoy your inner self.

[circusriot]

The good news is that Europe agrees that Trump is an idiot. The bad news is that it doesn't agree on anything less basic or obvious.

http://twitter.com/thedeadauthor/status/869460977888219137

[fernando-cano]

RT @thedeadauthor: A Brief History of Philosophy 1. Socrates deletes his account. 2. Plato posts screenshots of Socrates. 3. Aristotle unfollows Plato. 4. Aquinas retweets Jesus. 5. Descartes mutes Aquinas. 6. Locke mutes Descartes. 7. Kant unfollows Locke and Descartes. 8. Hegel subtweets Kant.

A Brief History of Philosophy 1. Socrates deletes his account. 2. Plato posts screenshots of Socrates. 3. Aristotle unfollows Plato. 4. Aquinas retweets Jesus. 5. Descartes mutes Aquinas. 6. Locke mutes Descartes. 7. Kant unfollows Locke and Descartes. 8. Hegel subtweets Kant.

— the dead author (@thedeadauthor) September 20, 2018

from Twitter https://twitter.com/AnyWaveFunction

[onefinalsacrifice]

A Brief History of Philosophy 1. Socrates deletes his account. 2. Plato posts screenshots of Socrates. 3. Aristotle unfollows Plato. 4. Aquinas retweets Jesus. 5. Descartes mutes Aquinas. 6. Locke mutes Descartes. 7. Kant unfollows Locke and Descartes. 8. Hegel subtweets Kant.

— the dead author (@thedeadauthor) September 20, 2018

from Twitter https://twitter.com/nichi_yes

[nottamuntown]

the dead author on Twitter:

The branches of philosophy

[sproutfavorites]

The unspoken fear that not even Donald Trump can cause people to become disillusioned about American democracy.

— the dead author (@thedeadauthor) July 17, 2017

[englishmajorhumor]

[thedeadauthor]

The Black Pencil | Hediyeh

"A type of coping mechanism you could say.."

wc: 911

cw: gore, blood

Enjoy

She sat at a table, motionless and silently, observing the small item in front of her. The chair she sat on felt cheap and fragile, like an overused plastic bag. A part of her believed that it would break under the pressure of her weight any second now.

But she knew that it would not. The chairs at her school were durable and strong, able to withstand even the greatest forces. She herself got to see and feel just how much damage they could make, first hand.

Her gaze never left the wooden instrument, her mind too focused on its sharp end. Fascination soared through her mind as she adored the shiny gray and the detail of the engravings on its body. There even was a subtle hint of blue within the deep gray pigmentation– how interesting.

Moments passed and her mind thought about all the things one could do with a pencil. All the drawings one could sketch and the thoughts that she could pen down. If she had multiple of them, she could even try and make a tower. The opportunities seemed endless in her mind, it truly amazed her. But the thought that truly stuck was the realization of how much damage it could inflict onto others.

The tiny little tip, the dull gray, the sharp lead– it could cause serious injuries if desired..but it was of no use without somebody to control it. Indeed, without someone offering a helping hand, that little pencil was as good as useless, a waste of space. It needed to be held, to be used, to be put to work by a superior hand, one that knew what it was doing. Just like any other weapon it was harmless if not picked up by an individual.

Within seconds the girl was up in the air, her body released from its seated position. Slow steps were taken towards the teacher's desk, as she did not want to trip over the broken legs of the scattered desks around her. Her fingers reached forward, to grab a megaphone that laid on the glazed wood– what an unusual spot to find such an item in.

Yet it was there.

A soft smile graced her lips, it seemed almost foreign. For anyone who had known her at least, this would have been a rather unusual sight indeed.

“These two are basically the same, right?” Her deep, husky voice filled the empty classroom, dipping it into an ominous atmosphere. There was no one to address, yet she continued to talk away.

“This is my pencil..with which I shall draw and hurt..sketch a society that lives in fear and terror.” The girl's gaze suddenly lifted, to face something that was now standing across from her. A creature, one whose appearance could not be put into words as it was ever changing and inconsistent. Its black layer of skin seemed to be made out of some kind of gooey yet durable substance. It had horns and spikes on every curve and bend on its body and no defined facial features. It reeked. It reeked of blood and guts and if pain had a smell it would smell just like it as well.

“Here you go.” With no fear in her heart she held out the white megaphone for the monster to take. It bent its head over the item, so far until it disappeared in its gooey mass. Only after the enhancer had completely emerged in the substance of its skin did the monster lift its head.

The girls' focus shifted once more. Now it laid on the entire classroom, where it stayed for a while. She took in the chaos of broken desks and chairs and the only set, the one she just sat in, that had survived the massacre. Thick, red blood painted the walls, the ceiling and every other surface of the spacious room. Some of it was still dripping, dripping down the walls and onto some of the bodies.

Yes, the bodies. The motionless, now empty vessels of her dead classmates. They simply laid there, scattered all around the room with no great purpose. None of the bodies had remained whole. Some heads had been blown off in the process and some bodies even completely vaporized.

She did make sure that they would have a quick death.

Torn uniforms, blown out guts and limbs that looked like confetti– it was a sight to mourn and fear.

“He-di-yeh” A cruel and unsatisfying sound suddenly struck through the air like lightning, cutting into the ear of the girl. It belonged to the monster.

“Yes, I'm coming.” Hediyeh sighed, ready to walk into the monster's embrace. But as she was about to leave it all behind, her attention shifted towards the far left corner of the room. A student stood in the doorframe, overcome by emotions that threatened to turn his guts inside out. The boy's eyes took in the gruesome terror, the bones, the guts and the girl's blood covered body. It struck him with a sense of disgust that was almost palpable.

The megaphone found its way back into her hands as she slowly approached the stunned boy, who found himself unable to move. Her presence alone was enough to paralyze him. Hediyeh held up the black pencil, lifted the megaphone to her lips and contrasted the boy's fearful expression with a soft smile.

“Stab yourself in the throat.”

[yoredoesmore]

hello everyone, it has been a while :)

i was gone because i was working on a project of mine and i finally launched the website today! if you're a fan of horror, the weird and supernatural (or used to love creepypasta) check out my short stories! huge trigger warning tho because I write about traumatic events, insecurities and much more

https://linktr.ee/thedeadauthor?utm_source=linktree_profile_share&ltsid=0780d0e3-ae52-4eb6-8ff2-285886f6f0ac

thank you :>

[circusriot]

People will complain that their lives are empty unless it's the weekend and they're not doing anything.

http://twitter.com/thedeadauthor/status/764887826664136705

[thedeadauthor]

† Voiceless - Harbinger of Death †

MOODBOARD

[thedeadauthor]

°GLOSSARY°

Archive of the Lost Files

The entire collection of fiction, written and published by the Dead Author

DOTU

Discoveries of the Unknown - The Dead Author is a curious entity, one that always strives to gain more knowledge about its surroundings.

​ "Discoveries of the Unknown '' is a special collection that features interviews, documentaries, journal entries and more, composed by The Dead Author themselves about all kinds of entities.

Grudges

The Physical manifestation of a dead person's anger, frustration or other negative emotions which they felt during their last moments before death are called Grudges. Grudges will turn humans into zombie-like entities that wander around a certain area (they cannot travel too far away from the place of the deceased aka the hive) and search for humans to possess and consume. These entities will take over a person's mind, creating a hive-like system in their body and use it to spread even more terror, as human flesh allows them to travel past their bounds. The main body of the disease, where the first manifestation takes place, is called the Hive. Only if the hive stays in tact will the grudges be able to act, as they need orders in order to function. The human they possess will be fully aware of what is happening but the only thing they can do is watch and endure as they feel a never ending pain consume them like fire. A fate worse than death.

Monsters

The word that is most commonly used by humanity to refer to the entities.

The Dead Author

A human-like individual, who documents all encounters with the entities..

​

Victims

The word that is most commonly used by her to refer to the entities.

[thedeadauthor]

THE CLASSIFICATIONS

(in no specific order)

Vices

The Seven Deadly Sins, also known as the Seven Princes of Hell.

Examples: Wrath, Pride, Gluttony/ Satan, Lucifer Beelzebub

Victims

The group of entities, creatures and humans who were wronged by the world and found sanctuary under her care. They live in the house of Wrath and act/kill according to her orders.

Examples: not met yet

Outcasts

Possessed humans who have kept their human appearance, morals and habits and therefore are neither considered real “monsters” or humans by both groups.

Examples: Voiceless

The Help

Individuals of different species (demons, humans, angelic beings, etc) who work for the vices and reside in the corresponding houses.

Examples: not met yet

Successors

Chosen Individuals who are next in line to become a Vice's Vessel.

Examples: not met yet

Deviants (stand alones)

The small percentage of individuals who were wronged by the world but act upon their own beliefs and morals. They do not serve a higher being, nor belong to any community. In most cases they live secluded from society.

Examples: St4lker

Monsters

The term “Monsters” is an Umbrella term and refers to the demons, spirits, ghosts and other ungodly creatures who roam the earth and cause terror.

or

The Term “Monsters” is officially used by society to refer to all the demons, ghosts, ungodly creatures and even humans/killers who have caused terror to fall over society. It was first used in this way by the world leaders in xxxx, when their existence was made official.

Examples: Everyone

Dead Doves

Demons who possess angelic features/appearances and work for Father

Examples: not met yet

The 7 Great Terrors

Seven creatures who are possessed by the vengeful souls of the ***

Examples: not met yet

Heavenly Principles

Gods and Demiurges, the creators of the current world.

Examples: Sophia

Otherworldly

Beings, whose origin lie in another dimension or universe/beings not from this earth or galaxy

Examples: not met yet

Seraphim and Cherubim

The highest form of beings in the ninefold celestial hierarchy

[thedeadauthor]

!BEFORE YOU FOLLOW¡

If you lack media literacy please do not continue or proceed with caution. Nobody will hold your hand while you read these stories.

♱

The non-existent domain is like an archive. It is the place where people from all around the world can rejoice and have access to the "Lost Files". Stories of horror and gloom, legends of monsters and anti-heroes or the horrendous tales of the unspoken– they can all be found on this simple site.

The author of this place goes by "The Dead Author". Little is known about them and their origin and how they came to be. They seem to be just like the other entities, lost and wandering around this universe without a purpose. The only thing one can say for sure is that they are immune to it all...

Sit down and relax, dear reader. Enjoy your stay but try not to get out of touch with your reality.

♱

All readers WILL encounter unpleasant topics such as SA, Abuse, Gore and more on this site. It is heavily advised to read the warnings before continuing!