deanwinchesterbutt
She was born here, she was raised here. This? This was the place she had decomposed. She had the demon children who took over after she was a mound of ash. They broke the chairs, they burned the curtains. Smoke raised to the skies above. The demon children held up their clawed hands to the blackened sky. Their snarled teeth reflected the yellow of the fire. They had raised above the old woman and her abode.
There was the cake. There were 14 candles and the people who didn't care wether she lived or died surrounded her, their smiles plastered on and ready. The fire glared ad they all surrounded her and again she felt small. "I wish for happiness" she thought. The flame was now gone. Later in the night, she could hear the putter of rain, and ran out. The drops drenched her, and she could feel all of it slowly wash away. She smiled, ran and danced. For a moment the gaping hole was smaller. For a moment, in the fleeting joy of harsh rain -she was happy.