Freeform: Wounds.

      Standing in front of a mirror, I expect to see my own reflection when, instead, cast in the pale light of some long-ago moon, there sits a small girl, curled-up with her knees to her chin. Little cuts adorn her bare arms and legs, from scars freshly opened by tiny little fingernails, as she hides her face behind her silver-white hair, flowing atop her head and down past her shoulders.
      She trembles, but is afraid to cry. I want nothing more than to reach through the glass, and in doing so, I find myself in her dark little realm, looking above to see no moon, not even a star glinting in the distance. Just darkness, the cold unfathomable, and this little wounded, trembling girl, who glows just like the moon.
      She looks up at me with eyes red with tears, and irises a shade of red between warming and hurt. I bend down, crouching despite the effort, and follow my instinct to just take her in my arms, press her tight against my chest, and not let go.
      "It's okay," I whisper, feeling her tremble. "I know you hurt . . . it's okay, I'm here now..."
      She cries, and the tears run down my cheeks, as I see with her eyes all the little cuts and scars, her only desire laid bare.
      She only ever wanted to be loved, unconditionally.
      But instead, she found only pain, only the need to hide away, to keep from ever being hurt so terribly again, even if all she ever did was to keep picking at the scabs.
      She withdraws almost as soon as the tears began, returning to her curled-up position on the ground. "It's okay," I whisper, that little smile still on my face somehow, "it takes time. And we have all the time in the world, I promise."
      She winces at the word, but somehow, she doesn't hold herself so tightly. I slip away, if only for a moment, to write these very words, knowing that they, too, are flawed, but showing her all the same, as I look back into the mirror to see my own face again, wondering, hoping that she'll be in my arms to keep, that she won't have to be alone any longer.

Scribble: Undead + Robot = this?

      Dangling between spindly, clanking fingers, the strange artifact dangled precariously from its chain, little patches of metal gleaming through the rusted links. Eyes little more than glowing green dots in pools of darkness, the skeletal figure leaned in closer to investigate, placing a free arm against bended knees for balance.
      Cold, gray flesh twisting into a contemplative frown, the detective gradually raised another metal hand, its exposed metal sinews and wires coated in a fine blanket of dust. With delicate precision, a sharp fingertip gently tapped on the ornate brass casing, sending little particles of rust into the air.
      Spinning in the air, the artifact remained otherwise static, casting little particles of rust into the air. Moments passed before, quite suddenly, the side of the strange pendant creaked open, as dust from another time swirled into the ancient air. Startled from his stillness, the detective quickly regained his balance, bringing the exposed surface closer to investigate.
      A quiet tick echoed throughout the catacombs, as the hands of the watch shifted ever so slightly, only to grow still once more. With a frown, the mechanical figure closed the creaking door, clenching the device gently in one hand.
      "I have seen this before..." he began, in a voice choked with dust and gravel. "It once . . . was mine..."

Scribble: Sometimes, you just gotta be free.

      She looks up at the sky, shimmering eyes drifting between the scattered points of light. Toes crunching on the gravel, she falls back to lean on her steed, the engine block still warm to the touch. A streak of light flashes across the sky and her tired face, as a quiet laugh slips from behind her smile.
      Somewhere in the distance, ashes of photographs and letters drift in the midnight air, carried aloft by laughter...

Scribble: I need to see if the SCP Foundation has a record on this guy.

      Static echoed from the rusted box, its drooping antenna nothing more than wire and peeling tape. Upon its face, the ghost of some knob or another lingered over a jagged metal prong, as rust drifted in and out of the solitary speaker. Nearby stood an unadorned table, its legs buckling under its own weight, blanketed by dust and the greasy mold starting to form upon its surface. Only a single chair, itself nothing more than bound twigs and damp, oozing glue, remained for use; no trace of what other furniture there might have been remained.
      From behind an unseen door emerged a single, lithe figure, a white paper mask obscuring all the features of its face. Walking in erratic movements to the radio, the shadow paused, slowly jerking its bank visage around as though aware of being watched. Without another moment's hesitation, the specter threw an arm across the room, reaching farther than any human arm could, the sounds of breaking bones and torn sinews barely audible above the din. Flicking the skeleton of some radio dial, the static soon became overpowering, as the pale mask turned around, again and again, as each crick of sundered bone still lingered.
      A sudden stillness overtook the shadow, its arm back to the way it had been, the twitching motions now calmed. In but a moment, a small line formed upon the mask, growing wider and larger, the figure's head convulsing with each inch. Jagged teeth, grinning, with no eyes or nose or ears to accompany it, ripped across its face, as the static gave way to the sound of aggravated breathing. Even without sight, it turned to face its unseen audience, as the very neck of the shade started to snake and twist from the body, oozing like a fleshy, bleeding worm culled from a sore...
      "And that's when we stopped the tape," the agent added, breathing heavily.
      "Reason?" demanded the faceless monolith before him.
      "Because that's when it reached through the television screen," he blurted out, starting to tremble before adding, "sir."

Scribble: Unfunny jokes.

A horse walks into a bar. The barkeep asks, "why the long face?" The horse says nothing, as it is a figment of the barkeep's imagination. One patron turns to another and whispers, "he hasn't been the same since his wife died." The other patron solemnly nods in agreement.

* * * * *

A rabbi, a priest, and an imam walk into a bar. The barkeep says, "what is this, some kind of joke?" The priest, upon catching sight of the barkeep, immediately turns to leave, rushing out of the bar. Before the imam can ask, the barkeep begrudgingly says, "she left me standing at the altar." The rabbi stands still, overtaken by the awkward silence.

* * * * *

A blonde and a brunette walk into a bar. The brunette orders a 7 & 7 without delay. The barkeep asks the blonde for her order. "None for me," she replies sadly, after a few moment's hesitation. "Are you sure?" asks the barkeep, noticing her seeming embarrassment. "Yes," she replies softly, before taking her leave from her friend and leaves the bar.

She passes by a tiny cemetery on the walk room, and struggles to slide between the old iron gates. After walking for a few minutes in the chill autumn air, she stops before a small gravestone, falling to her knees.

"I'm sorry, son," she chokes between sobs, clutching the piece of granite. "I couldn't keep you safe..."

From atop the marker, a dented toy car falls onto the frosty ground.

Scribble: I think I miss spring.

      Shyly she stood, as nearby the midday sun dancing atop the rippling waters. Twirling and playing with the folds of her dress, a slight blush came upon her face at the thought of someone seeing her. Silly girl, she chided, her smile briefly fading, you're in a clearing in the middle of the woods. With an embarrassed sigh, her eyes turned toward the sky once more, the endless blue captured perfectly in her irises.
      Fluttering from far above, a single white butterfly drifted to the secret dancer's outstretched fingers, as the girl gently drew her hand close. "Is it you?" she asked, the pounding of her heart ringing in her ears.
      Before another word could pass her lips, a cloud of white fell gracefully from above, a thousand tiny wings fluttering away. Laughing as she twirled, the dancer let the creatures surround her in a graceful display, reaching her bare arms out for an embrace. Within but a moment, she stood completely encircled, invisible to the outside world.
      And in but another, a flash of white filled the air, as the dancer stood, with a small waif in her arms, clad in the most elegant of dresses.
      "Indeed it is," whispered the smaller of the girls, smiling just as brightly as her companion, "for as the season comes, so, too, do I..."

Scribble: Scene from a future project?

      A candle's fickle flame danced upon the wick, as she looked across the tiny attic once more. Having slipped away from her companions as they slept, the waif couldn't help but smile at her new-found privacy, suppressing an anxious giggle in an effort not to wake them. Trying to brush away long silver locks, her fingertips graced the ornate leather patch where her left eye once had been, and the tender care someone had taken to ease the loss with beauty.
      Another gift, thought the waif, her single eye welling-up with a tear. One you promised you'd take back someday, if only to give me another. But that's not why I'm here...
      With a wistful sigh, she quickly unfastened the fabric above her breast, just enough to reveal a small, metal chamber where her heart might've been. Cautiously, her slender fingers tapped a gentle rhythm, as the circular seal shifted away, revealing but an elaborate series of gears and springs, roughly in the shape of a heart.
      Gently reaching inside, her fingers found a small locket, fitting in place with its surroundings almost perfectly, despite its peculiar shape. Staring longingly at the little rabbit of brass, the waif released yet another sigh, before folding the trinket into her pale, soft hands.
      Thank you, she thought, the faint clicking of her inner mechanisms sounding almost like a song. May we meet again so very soon...