An Exerpt

My life has been very busy and in the way. There’s many different stuff going on, things that drain my energy, things that affect my health, things that affect my space, not to mention laziness. Currently my spiritual life is really on the back burner, but I feel bad neglecting all my blog readers. So, on the occasion that I actually have time, I’ll write something. I have ideas for PBP topics but no compulsion to write them, even when I sit down and try. There’s no flow of ideas, but I have found inspiration for fiction. I am more than happy to share bits and pieces. I’ll also be working on poetry and other praise writing for Aset, Anpu and Set. Thanks for your patience guys.

~~~~~

A young child pats his pockets for keys as he runs up the road. The sun is setting and his bare feet and pants are covered in mud and leaves from the nearby woods where he spent too much time playing. The large green house and vibrant garden  he was heading towards were framed by the sunset like a painting. 

The boy slows as he approaches the garden gate, peeking around the manicured bushes and dashing behind sunflowers and a tree. He was afraid of his mother being out there, waiting for him with a belt and a lecture. Yet all was quiet. The boy’s brown face peeked around a bean stalk, his red eyes searching for any sign of his parents, but all he could see was the backdoor swinging open. He frowned, brushing his black hair from his eyes and walking up to the door.

Darkness loomed before him in the kitchen and the smells of cooking food did not waft into his nose. In fact, he smelled something salty and metallic. Dead meat, blood. The boy shuddered harshly as a mix of fear and excitement blew through him. It was scary, everything about the silence and the darkness and the smell of blood was frightening, but how could a wolf deny the excitement of death and the taste of life? Still, where were his parents?

The first floor revealed nothing to the young boy. The house did not even creak underfoot, his father had the floors redone last summer. A breeze fluttered the curtains in the living room windows, but there was still no sign of life. The smell of blood was strong near the stairs. The child swallowed, rubbing his throat in pain as it tightened around the spittle. He climbed the stairs slowly, placing each step carefully to be quiet. Just like how you sneak up on prey, or skirt around a mountain lion.

The door was closed. His mother never closed their door. His father never closed the door either, so why was it closed? Upstairs smelled disgusting, the blood scent was no longer pleasant. It was worse than rotting meat and made his stomach turn. The boy’s heart was pounding and he needed to pee. Why was the door closed? Something about that shut door was so unsettling, so terrifying. He pushed it open.

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