Friendfinder is a lying dating site
Aside from the rush of fear we get reading a chilling tale, there's an even deeper, often subconscious, connection to mythology involved. Our fear can protect us from danger, but it can also haunt us in the middle of the night.
A good story can inspire the same adrenaline rush in us that a real experience would.
GUIDELINES:* Minimum of 1000 characters* Standard English grammar and punctuation (to the best of your ability)* Must be a TRUE story that happened to you or someone you know directly.
(Use the "Scary Fiction" section for fiction stories) Click below to see contributions from other visitors to this page... Okay first of all I want to start by saying no negative comments.
About a mile leaving from her home there is a four way stop with a convenient store …
2 Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me. Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
Me (my name is Georgie) and my twin brother Jack are 14 now, and my little brother Luke is 5.
When I was little me and Jack had an imaginary friend called …
I am satisfied--I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?