Tomorrow Will Be A Better Day

The last sliver of sunlight was fading through the dense canopy, leaving the forest in an eerie haunting twilight. Amelia, her heart pounding quickly in her chest, stumbled through the undergrowth, the path she thought she'd been following now swallowed by the thickening shadows. She had been so very focused on the rare bird she'd been trying to photograph, she hadn't noticed how far she'd wandered from the marked trail. Now, she had to admit that she was utterly lost. A brisk wind rustled the leaves, creating an unsettling whisper that seemed to echo her own mounting fear. She tried to remember the park ranger's instructions, the landmarks he'd mentioned, but the trees all looked the same, their gnarled branches twisting into an indistinguishable maze. The thought of spending the night in this wilderness, alone, sent a shiver down her spine. As darkness descended even further upon her, Amelia's eyes strained to see through the dim gloom. Every rustle, eve...

The attic was a labrrinth of lost memories, each dusty box holding a piece of things barely even recalled. Fiona, the one who had recently inherited the ancient Victorian household was cautiosly sifting through a box of her old great-grandmother's belongings where he finger brushed against an old leather pouch. Inside, nestled among faded photograps, laid a tarnished locket, was one train ticket, it's edges long-frayed, the ink faded butt the destination printed clearly on the ticket: "Faronay." "Faronay?" she murmured, turning the ticket over in her hands a few times. She had never before heard of such a place and a quick Google search yielded her no results. It looked like it was a real ticket with an actual train station address and departure date, but the location that would be arrived at was completely unknown. Curiousity gnawed at her without any relent. Could it possibly be a typo? Or perhaps it was a fictional place from a book her great-grandmot...

I remember it. The sensation was not of life, no, buut of the damp earth, pressing roughly against my skin. It was indeed a slow, agonizing awakening, much like a seed pushing its way through the soil, except instead of being greeted by sunlight, I was greeted by the pale, haunting glow of the moon filtering soundly through the graveyard's willow canopy, giving the illusion of peace. I was Emily, the Corpse Bride (yes, the tales are true), and my life, or rather, my death, had been quite the affair not to bother anyone, it had indeed been an overlooked whisper drifting in the forgotten annals of time. Then, one unexpected day, an ungenteel, noisy young lad bequethed the name of Victor stumbled (basically tripped) into my unnoticeable grave. He was rehearsing his wedding vows (the nerve!), his voice reverberating eerily in the frozen stillness, and in his timid fumbling, he dropped the wedding ring onto my finger, thinking that it was only a tree-root (he has to be forgiven for tha...