Pickles
Its 11:20 AM, you spring up from your bed in a cold sweat holding on to your covers tightly. "Jest a nightmare" you told your self as your raising hart beet begins to slow down. Your in a guest room on the 2nd floor of your grandmothers house, you wear staying their for the week because your parents took a trip to France for their 2nd honeymoon. You stare at the digital clock beside your bed trying to git to sleep and failing. You decide to git something to eat to calm your nerves, " A sandwich" you think to your self "a ham sandwich that'll be good". You slowly git out of your bed and creep your way to the door to the room. You wens and the creaking of the rusty hinge barley keeping the door in place, You keep telling your grandma to replace it but her response is always the same. "Hinges are expensive, and it still works rite? No use in fixing something that ain't broken" You evenly open the door jest enough to squeeze threw. You slowly creep down the hallway leading to the stairs. Each stair makes a soft creek as you go down the old wooden staircase, You use the railing as a guide because the lights over them are broken. You make it down the stairs and to the living room. You walk to the end of the living room and enter the doorway leading to the leading to the kitchen. You open the fridge and pull out the ham, cheese, and breed. You make the sandwich and put everything back in the fridge except the sandwich. You take a bite when you relies you forget the pickles. You go down the the basement ware your grandmother keeps her home made pickles, you loved the the most. You creep down the basement stairs. You hear a noise and got scared do to all the child disparateness in the neighborhood lately. Then you see a rat scamper up the stairs and you relies that it must of made the noise. You grab a jar from 1 of the shelfs and twist off the lid. You reach in to the vernier and feel 5 long and thin pickles, and 1 short, fat pickle. You go for the fat 1 and try to pull it out but it wont budge. You pull and twist it until theirs a raking and taring sown and it pops out. You look at it and as the thick red goo pour from it you relies whats in you hand... isn't a pickle.
Credited to Bronydog342
Originally uploaded on December 10, 2014
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