#immagine

Immagine Michael Myers with a kid! Reader. (Male)

One hallowen night,he was just walking around the city,knife in hand and blood on his clothes. He entered a house,found a married couple,a man in his late 30's and a woman in her early 40's. Killed both of them,then heard some shuffling in a locked closet. He broke the door and heard a yelp from inside. Before he could do anything,he saw a little kid,maybe 6 or 7 years old. Skinny as a corpse,pale as a sheet,and covered in sigarettes marks,old and new ones,as if someone continuosly used his body to put out cigs. The kid didn't seem particularly scared of him,either. More like...curious? As if he was some new guest and not a huge man with a bloody knife and even bloodier clothes. It was...weird.

Then the kid looked away from him,finally noticing his parents' dead bodies. He didn't scream,didn't cry,didn't try to run. Just stared. And...was that a smile on his lips? Yep,the kid was smiling. At him. The kid was smiling at him. Why the hell was the kid smiling at him?!

It was weird. Even weirder was that Michael had no desire to kill the kid. It didn't even go trought his head to do so actually.

He walked away. Not a single word.

The kid followed. Obviously just his choice. It's not like Michael motioned for him to do so with his fingers behind his back after turning around.

And it's not like Michael started breaking into houses way more frequently,just to let the kid go trought the fridges and cabinets to get something good to eat.

And it's obviously not like HE made the mask now on the kid's bed himself,so very similar to his,and searched for a knife small enough for the kid to use without hurting himself.

He's Michael Myers,the Boogyeman.

♠️_Cogliere con uno sguardo un’immagine del mondo è arte. Ma quante cose entrano in un occhio!

Pranzo 🖤🌹

Natale 2025.

Queste scarpe mi fanno troppo sentire slave.

Un treno,una piazza,un piccolo borgo,un sorriso spontaneo causato da un pensiero fugace.

Un fermo immagine mentale,un attimo che annulla il tempo e ti catapulta in una realtà parallela.

Ah Il potere dei ricordi…

René Magritte, “The Heartstrings”. (1960)

“Ognuno si sceglieva a propria immagine e somiglianza l'alfabeto di riferimento: per i matematici e i fisici erano i numeri, per i cristiani i miracoli, per i sognatori le nuvole.”