Despite the overall glowing and positive reviews for this pizza place, Freddy’s Family Pizzeria had some rather… dark… rumors attached to it. The former chain that this restaurant was once a part of? Suffered horrible closures at nearly all of their locations. Some locations saw murders, others saw fire. The original company went under years ago, leaving just a duo of business owners to actually run the place independently.
Even through the hardships, this place stood. Though it was now the only remaining Freddy’s, it stood. Still, whisperings could be heard. People said it was haunted by vengeful ghosts, those of the children murdered so long ago.
It was late at night when Pari met the guard. He was a tall man with long, dark hair and bright blue eyes. He waved in greeting as she approached. “Hey! You’re Pari, right? Bossman told me to expect you. Night shift, right? My name’s Mike. Mike for short. Did you have any questions for me before I get started training you?”
Another Prince of Persia: ghosts of the past appreciation post…
This game and Journey i just fell in love with, maybe the beautiful ethnic soundtrack complete with a wonderful heart warming story and visually stimulating scenes that scream ‘a beautiful new world awaits you’ is all i really ask for in a game that makes my heart melt <3
Belle and Rumple fought all they could to keep their little girl. Each time Hades had found a way to change the rules. Both decided to stay in the Underworld till they could get their child back. However, they were banned from seeing her.
Hades, was going to use the child in a spell to go back in time but when the baby was born, he took the child and besides the power it offered, he thought the child would make a good example o why the underworld needed to remain hopeless. For with every bit of hope, something grew in the land of decay.
They might as well have said ‘run along and play now, Hamish, let the grown-ups do their work’, because for the young boy, that is exactly how it felt. He was home alone once more, not that he minded that too much, the flat being open and quiet. And being home alone was nothing new, seeing as how he often watched his father run off for a case- which is where he supposed he was today-, or his mother go off to do whatever she needed to do that day. But he always knew where the were, always knew what they were doing. Because they always told him.
However, today he had woken up to find them both leaving, and when he made to ask where they were going, they had been out the door as if struck. And while Hamish wasn’t a baby who needed to be reminded of his parents affections every time they left, it was a bit bothersome to get nothing in response. They’d be back, he knew, and there was always Mrs.Hudson if he really wanted company. Company that wouldn’t change his nagging curiosity.
So he waited.
Hamish scrambled himself some eggs, making a mental note to ask his mother to buy more next time she went out. Went through the papers his father had scrambled out on the sitting room table. Turned on the television, grew annoyed with the television, and turned it back off. Threw a small ball against the wall and caught it repetitively. Spoke a rant to the severed head in the fridge, searched for said heads missing eyeballs, and found himself unreasonably disappointed when he couldn’t find them.
In the end, the child ended up on the couch, his head faced away from the door to watch and wait for someone to come in.
I thought it might be fun to see what a difference 2 years could make :B
The left is the first time I drew Dennis and Tāngmǔ in color together, the right is a piece I made this evening. I like to think they have evolved pretty nicely. I wonder what they’ll look like two years from now!
You die every night, and are reborn at dawn; you are a walking graveyard,
an army of yesterday’s ghosts,
and you no longer remember
who you were at the beginning.
Do not weep for the stranger that once inhabited your bones.
What if the ghosts of your past were just that, ghosts?
Intangible, invisible, immaterial.
What if you gave them no voice or meaning?
Refused to believe in them or give them feeling
What could you be if you stepped out
And stood free in the light
Slashing through them with the iron in your spine
And the light in your heart?
What if you laid their bones to rest
In the graveyard of memory
And lit them on fire with matches set
To pages of your story they no longer belong in.
What if you chose your own freedom
Rather than lived in invisible captivity?
What then could you be?