Doreen June Watsford
Doreen's barely a tweenager when she slipped near a rocky grotto by her cousins home.
Doreen lost her footing balance on some unstable terrain crumbling down below with her.
Doreen's lifetime was c. 193X-194X
Rookwood General Cemetery
Rookwood, Cumberland Council, New South Wales, Australia
Anglican Sect 15 grave 2539
MEMORIAL ID 102416085 ·
‘Seeing Red (The First Day of School)’ by Zenryhao
Everyone loves the first day of school, right? New year, new classes, new friends.
I like the first day of school for a different reason, though. You see, I have a sort of power.
When I look at people, I can…sense a sort of aura around them. A colour outline based on
how long that person has to live. Most everyone I meet around my age is surrounded by a
solid green hue, which means they have plenty of time left. A fair amount of them have a yellow
orange tinge to their auras, which tends to mean a disease or fire; some tragedy. Anything that
takes people “before their time” as they say. The real fun is when the auras venture into the red
end of the spectrum, though. Every now and again I’ll see someone who’s basically a stoplight.
Those are the ones who get in a car crash, or even a victim of crime. It’s such a rush to see them
and know their time is numbered. With that in mind, I always get to class very early so I can scout
out my classmates’ fates. The first kid who came in was basically radiating red. I tsk tsk tsk. Huh.
But as people kept walking in, they all had the same intense red glow. I finally caught a glimpse of
my own fading reflection in the window, but I was too stunned to move. Our professor stepped in
and locked the door, his aura a sickening shade of green...
Horror Short Story: The Accident
In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done.
Written by: Reddit user Minnboy
Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated.
An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas
and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home.
Why did you run, you fool? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now?
Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me.
There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer.
He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss..."
I Begged You
“Please, I am literally begging you,” I warn, but the executioner only sighs and
gives me a truly sorrowful look...
The chaplain sits beside me. “Once he pushes the button, death will come
soon after,” he explains, even though I have heard it so
many times before already. “Any final words?”
“Just, again, I tell you, begging you not to do this,” I say.
That’s the thing, though; I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my
The chaplain nods sadly, sorrowful that I do not face my executioner with a
That’s the thing, though. I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my
entire life. I don’t know why, but whenever I would accidentally hurt myself
others near me would receive the wound. I once got a paper cut in class that
caused the three people around me to bleed from their fingers. In high school, I
was in a car accident, and even though my side of the car was hit, my girlfriend
developed a broken leg.
I’m always very careful. I take care of myself, trying to stay in the very best of
health. But when I was mugged by that trio and he shot me in the face, theirs
exploded, not mine. And when the cops came, they found me kneeling by
their bodies, trying to figure out what to do and stupidly holding their gun.
Around thirty seconds after the execution started, I see both the executioner
and chaplain fall to the floor with a hard thump. “I told you,” I begged sadly.
4 yr. ago
Moments before the tragedy
At 3, she jumped off the bed.
At 7, she unbuckled her seat belt.
At 12, she went to a sleepover at a friend's house.
At 17, she finally received her driver's license.
At 26, she said yes.
At 30, she went into labor.
At 39, she had one last hurrah.
At 46, she signed the papers to make it final.
At 55, he was diagnosed and had no one to share the news with.
At 61, she celebrated her remission with a night out.
At 22, she looked at herself in the mirror.
At 87, surrounded by her family and friends, she smiled.
There are moments before every tragedy, quick flashes of boredom or happiness, of the expected and unexpected. These moments I see. The little girl jumping off her parents bed and into an unresponsive final state. Another girl attending her first sleepover, excited and giddy, only to succumb to an unknowing fatal nut allergy.
The young woman whose proposal near the shoreline was poorly thought-out, never allowing her to live to see her marriage. The older woman who finally divorced the man she came to loathe, and for that man to not take the finality of it all with dignity or peace.
The man whose diagnosis was terminal. The woman whose 40th birthday ended in heartache and disaster. The girl whose last glimpse in the mirror was of herself, relieved, then raising the pistol to her temple.
These moments, as innocuous as they seem, are the final looks to life before tragedy ultimately hits. And I watch them. I have to. It's my responsibility to take you all from this realm to the next.
It's my duty. And I am sorry; I truly am.
Because now? At this moment, they read the final sentences of a story. Some bored. Some happy. Some expecting this ending; some not.
And I watch as they read these last words, fully oblivious as they are, that this, this is their moment.
Mel Ignatow, the killer who died the same way he killed his girlfriend
Mel Ignatow was a convicted murderer who killed his girlfriend by tying her to a
glass table and slicing her. Years later he himself fell on the glass table and died
from the cuts.