100wc by Shanelle

It is night… the radiant lights reflect on the cold wet floor like someone’s spilt orange juice on it. The shadows linger like the cloak of a criminal. Rain falls onto the floor making the sound of a heart beating. A house sits on its own in the crow black night. The house is fast asleep now, dreaming, dreaming sweet things. Underneath a hard, metal grid trolls dance, laugh and play in their own secret little world. The road is empty, no cars, no people. The street is silent. Everybody’s sleeping, sleeping like their dead, in the crow black night.