Novelas y relatos de Midnight Thoughts

Thoughts of Dario's fragile state occupied her mind, as well as the looming specter of her own identity deception that threatened to unravel. She sighed heavily, glancing at the digital clock on her nightstand. Its cold blue numbers glared back at her, announcing that it was a daunting two in the morning. Sleep seemed a distant luxury at this point, as the memories and fears that had stirred in her dreams clung to her like a relentless shadow.

I didn’t get into college, so I took a job driving a city bus. Once I finished training, I started working the night shift with Uncle Tim. He had always been the kind of guy who followed every rule. But that night, he wouldn’t let me pick up a single passenger. He even made me keep the bus dark the entire route. Uncle Tim died shortly after that incident. A few days later, someone told me something that made my blood run cold. Uncle Tim had actually been dead for quite some time. So who the hell had been riding with me that night?

The thought repeated over and over again inside his head. He can like her...but that doesn’t mean he can have her. Midnight whispered, falling in depth towards the darkness he was conformed. @cycy

Some days I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that, and those are the days the panic hits worst, right around three in the morning when the building goes fully quiet and there’s nothing left to distract me from my own head. I sat on the edge of the bolted-down bed that afternoon running my thumb over the seam of my blanket, which had become a kind of habit, texture instead of thought, and I let myself think about Aiden for the first time all week, because Dr. Whitlow says avoiding a thought just makes it louder later, so sometimes I let it in on purpose, controlled, like taking a breath before you go underwater.

​The silence of the train car was absolute. The countdown to the end of the Architect had officially begun. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and for the first time in months, I didn't think about the past. I thought about the kill.

"Good communication is just as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after." Alessandro Present: after 3 years At this time Alessandro is already 25 *Alarm going off* I am alarmed by what is happening, I wasn't also prepared for the impending chaos waiting for me when the darkness arises.

She has read that book too? Midnight was a character from one of his first books. The book was about a young man, who because of being possessed by demons, would go on a killing spree every midnight, the sight and scent of the blood being the only salvation from the mental and physical pain these demons brought him. That fucker was a total psycho. Jake felt wronged. Why should she call him that? Does Ryder think of him as a psycho? Yet, upon noticing Ryder beaming proudly like a little child, he didn't have the heart to refuse. "Why not."

That thought was quickly tossed aside because if that was the case, the noises I made by kicking in a window aloud with my own cries and outburst from dressing my wounds would undoubtedly have been heard. Curled up between the two chairs with my face barely sticking out of my sleeping bag, my eyelids feel weighted with exhaustion and the comfort of finally being warm. The small LED lantern is in the dimmest mode, sitting on the table beside me casting a soft warm light. I usually sleep best in pitch black darkness, but am not brave or crazy enough to sleep without a light turned on while I'm inside this abandoned building at night. The last thing I remember doing before passing out for the n

~Fallon~ The message came just after midnight. I was on the balcony, legs curled under me, a blanket draped across my lap. The sky was ink-black and endless, the stars flung across it like someone had spilled them. The ocean below moved slow and steady, brushing against the cliffs in rhythmic sighs. Everything was quiet. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder. I was on my second glass of wine. Not drunk—just soft around the edges. Loosened. Unarmored. I’d spent the last hour watching the candle on the table melt into itself, thinking about nothing and everything.

I felt awkward and whispered that he did not have to do all that. Room changes, meal deliveries... "People might get the wrong idea." Edwin paused with the bowl in his hand, then smiled. "So what if they do? You're getting divorced on Tuesday, right?" I stared at him, shocked. Edwin had changed so much. He was confident and calm, nothing like before. "And Matthew works right here but hasn't visited once. I don't get what you saw in him." I just sipped my soup, not sure what to say.