Six Sentence Sunday

Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

From Beneath the Neon Moon sequel:
   "Go home, Zach, it's okay."
   Zach nodded, turning off the flashlight. He blinked into the well. The clearing was growing darker by the minute, and he couldn't see Mal at all any more.
   "Mal?" he called out, knowing he sounded panicked but unable to stop.
   "It's okay. Zach, please? I'm scared shitless that somehow I'll get to you."

From "Diamond Grey," a short story:
   She craned her head and looked up the trunk, the bark gnarled, dead vines clinging tightly as ever. The wind flapped the leaves on the vine, turning them on their side.
  Camilla moved closer. Spiders clung in clumps to the bark beneath, bodies one over another, long thin legs bunched up against the cold. Their eyes shone, tiny black pearls, waiting for her to climb the tree just as she had all summer and fall. 
   Hadn't she seen them all along at the edges of her vision, heard them skittering over the trunk beneath the vines?

From "Beulah's House of Prayer," a short story:
   Bryce made a noise in his throat, something that asked for forgiveness. Christian ignored it, looking up at the night sky and the blurred stars. He widened his thighs, spine arching out from the wall. Bryce sucked harder, as if that would make him look, would make it all right. It never did, and Christian never looked. He closed his eyes instead and came in Bryce’s mouth.