Lucy's Poetry Book

BY : AberrantScript
Category: +G through L > The Loud House
Dragon prints: 575
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House and make no money off this work of fiction.

Author's Notes:

I have a great reason for starting another oneshot collection. All of this will be dark and disturbing. And not humorous in the slightest. I could put it in All in the Life of a Loud, but I really don't want to scare away any readers with this stuff. So, all my insane stuff will go over there... and the really dark stuff will go here.

These chapters will follow a simple formula: Lucy writes a stanza or two of poetry or prose, and the scene she had in mind will follow it. Sometimes I'll even give you a peek at her reaction.

Reader be advised: This entire collection is dark writing. It may not be the darkest you've ever seen, but I'll give it a fair shot. If death bothers you, if fantasizing about suicide and murder bothers you, if the graphic depiction of mental disorders bothers you, then turn away now.

Disclaimer: The Loud House Copyright Nickelodeon (2017)


LUCY'S POETRY BOOK

Run, Brother Lincoln


"Run, brother Lincoln- Run while you can-

For soon fear will catch- you in his hand."


A white-haired boy tore through the forest at breakneck speeds. Behind him, above him, all around, the faceless noises of screeches and growls beckoned him from his path.

He ran, and ran, and ran… unstopping as shadows clawed at his clothes under the icy gaze of the moon.

His eyes darted to the left and hairy, spiny creatures looked at him.

His eyes tore to the right and flighty wings and sharped talons were coming right at his face.

He looked ahead and saw a cliff.

His heart stalled as he tried to stop. His body slid to the ground but kept going. He dug his nails into rocks and dirt, screaming as he felt his nails tear apart.

Something grabbed his legs and pulled, and suddenly his breath froze in his lungs as weightlessness filled his stomach.

He was rolling and falling, unstopping, unmoving.

He crashed into the ground and curled into a ball.

A thousand tiny things raced along his body, digging into his clothes, scraping along his skin with their pointed toes.

He tried to open his mouth to scream but a grimy hand seized his neck.

He looked into the void of a hooded figure and his eyes became paralyzed.

He watched as a shiny sliver of metal rose high into the black trees, covering the white moon.

All was quiet as he looked into the darkness underneath that cloak.

He was unable to breathe, unable to pump blood, unable to think, as terror gripped his ribs and ripped them asunder.

His soul bared to the shadows before him, he closed his eyes.

The screeching cheers could be heard.

The ragged breaths of death itself washed over him.

The whistle of steel cutting through the dead air…

And then, silence.


"Run, brother Lincoln- Run while you can-

For soon fear will catch- you in his hand."


A journal was closed in a darkened room.

Silence surrounded the image of a little girl sitting on her bed.

The light of the moon shone upon her pretty face…

Where a tiny smile graced bloodless cheeks.



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