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I walked out of the surgery room. Sad, for it had failed. They couldn't get rid of it. It was my last hope and yet here I am stuck in the same way. It should've worked. One hundred percent they said but I don't see a difference. I walk down to the therapists office. They had let me talk to her whenever I pleased since she wasn't busy...ever.
“Hi.” I say, my voice low. My eyes darted around the room avoiding her face.
“Hey, why don't you take a seat?” She said.
“Okay.” I sat reluctantly. I look at her. Her eyes were green but very bright. Her glasses where square and pushes against her face. Her nose was short and stubby and her lips were tightly sealed.
“How are we today then?” She asks. We go through this every time I come. I live here so I come a lot. She's my only real friend if she can even be called that.
“What do you think?” I say back. My eyes snapping to lock into hers.
“I don't understand why you don't just embrace it.”
“I can't. I'm already an outcast and now this. It'll just make it worse. I was alone for a long time I can do it again.”
“But maybe they will accept you.”
“BUT THEY WON'T!” I scream. I couldn't take it. There was at least 2 minutes of awkward silence.
“How do you really feel?” She spoke softly and carefully.
“Fine. I'm happy to be alone like I always have been.”
“So this doesn’t bother you?”
“Honestly the wings are kinda disconcerting.”
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The Berkshire Eagle, Pittsfield, Massachusetts, October 7, 1963
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Ahh another aesthetic, this one is for slytherin. As always, I just made the aesthetic, neither slytherin nor any of the pictures belong to me (though some have been altered).
Hufflepuff: Here!
Ravenclaw: Over Here!
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“I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.”
Isaac Marion
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My Wraiths - Chapter 3
Charlie ate her breakfast quickly and quietly. The crunching sound from the slightly burnt toast was echoing around the large dinning hall. The lingering smell of cooked bacon and eggs swarmed the room. The taste of the burnt bread mixed with the fatty bacon smell made Charlie want to puke. She looked around the room. She saw all the gold encrusted frames surrounding past family members. Ghosts of her family's heritage persisted to scare her. Was she ever going to have children? She knew she was pressured into continuing the line of the Klarks but she didn't know if she wanted to or if she was ready. She was only fifteen, that only left three years until she had to find a husband. She had only ever talked to girls apart from the gardener and her father. The thought rushed passed her brain and strained her eyes. Placing her fingers upon her temples and swirling her fingers around them, her face was masked with pain. Suffering from chronic headaches made everything she did difficult. She couldn't read for that long or concentrate on anything. Worse of all she couldn't think to hard without great pain yet she had no idea why. She had seen a doctor but he said it was just sleep deprivation – which was true – but Charlie knew it was different. She slept fine although it got disturbed a lot by nightmares. Her gut told her it was something else. Something invisible which swarmed her body and mind but went undetected.
Gretta walked into the room, carrying a plate filled with classic English breakfast. She placed it in front of Charlie – who had a face of utter grotesque.
“Please take that away, Gretta.” She spoke with a tone of nausea.
“Yes, dear.” The maid picked up the plate whilst her big feet patted back to the kitchen. Charlie got up. Her eyes were watering and her mouth was dry. Acid lingered in the back of her throat. Vision blurred, she walked to the bathroom. Almost passing out on the way, she ducked her head into the toilet and viciously threw up. Why on this particular day was she feeling this sick? She didn't know and neither did the maid – as she watched from the hallway. Charlie – feeling like eyes were on her – looked to the door to discover...nothing. She could've sworn someone was there watching her be sick.
She cleaned herself up and walked to her bedroom. A pretty, cream dress lay on the bed, waiting for her with gleaming eyes. As she got closer she could see the delicate lace pattern – containing leaves and flowers. The belt was a soft brown colour. There was a pair of tights lay with the dress with a pair of brown school-looking shoes. Charlie got dressed into this outfit. Putting on the cold shoes and walking out the room. She hated her bedroom. It was just like her...and she hated it: Frail, white and dainty. Charlie hated been reminded of what she was like but it was inescapable truth which trapped her like a cage.
There was a knock at the door. She could almost guess who it was. As she opened the huge door with a strong tug, she was met with Irisa's and Cara's faces. They all smiled then engaged in there daily group hug.
“Oh god, you look like lesbians.” Mamrie stood at the doorstep. Her lollipop, leather jacket and low hanging top were present showing things in Charlie's opinion should be hidden.
“We are not lesbians.” Irisa couldn't hear the sarcasm or hadn't noticed it.
“I'm just joking, calm down you weirdo.” Mamrie had a smirk on her face. She knew how to get under people's skin easily. Irisa was a good target because if you hurt her then you hurt Cara. Two birds with one stone. Mamrie loved to do that. She thought she was been clever yet she wasn't. She couldn't have been more stupid, that was what Charlie thought. Cara looked like she wanted to murder her right there and then. She had a look in her eyes which would scare anyone who saw it but not Mamrie. No she was special. She could withstand the fatal stare like a gorgon.
“Do you guys want to come in?” Charlie said, trying to break the tension. They all nodded and walked in and took there jackets off. Cara was wearing a plain white t-shirt. Irisa was wearing one with a rabbit on it. Mamrie was wearing a tight fitted tank top – which didn't cover her very well like clothes should do. It made everyone in the room feel uncomfortable. Not because they were lesbians. It was because she had grown up too fast and looked down on Irisa, Cara and Charlie like they were children allow they were the same age.
“So how's your boyfriend?” Cara asked, her tone was sharp. She had an emotionless face yet it was stern.
“Well, we aren't really going out. We've slept together and dated for about 10 months but I like to keep my options open as possible so an exclusive relationship is the wrong thing for me. Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?”
“No actually. My...condition doesn't really give me time to have a relatioship. As much as I'd like someone to hold my hand or -”
“Sleep with.” Mamrie commented.
“Kiss. I quite simply can not put them through it.”
“What's this condition?” Mamrie questioned; she had a look of disbelief – which annoyed Charlie.
“That's none of your -”
“She has Bipolar.” Irisa blurted out, looking down at the floor. Her legs were on the sofa, knees to her face. Mamrie scoffed and had a look of ignorance.
“Yeah because that's totally real.” Her face showed she was lying. She knew it was real but why would she lie? It didn't make sense to Charlie nor did Mamrie in general. Cara looked across to Mamrie. The vein in her neck was pumping and her hands were curled into fists. Her face was growing red. Suddenly with one swift movement, Cara's fist had made a lot of contact with Mamrie's face. It was so quick and forceful that Mamrie fell to the floor clutching her cheek.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Cara screamed. Irisa looked like a lost puppy. Mamrie stood up and punched Cara straight in the eye, knocking her to the ground and began to kick her hard in the stomach.
“MAMRIE STOP RIGHT NOW,” Charlie shouted at her and luckily it worked, “Get out of my house.” Mamrie glared at Charlie and Irisa, grabbed her jacket and stormed out.
“GRETTA!” Charlie called. Gretta apeared at the doorway in a matter of seconds, it was almost like she'd been outside listening.
“Oh dear, Cara let's go and get you cleaned up. Charlie and Irisa you wait in here.” Gretta picked up Cara and helped her walked out the door and into the long hall. No footsteps could be heard.
“That wasn't awful.” Charlie remarked.
“What is wrong with you? Of course it was awful.” Irisa looked like a robot. It was strange it was like she was a puppet or a dummy and the voice had come from someone else.
“I was been sarcastic, Irisa.” Charlie said like she talking to a small child.
“Oh.” Irisa looked at the table again.
“Charlie, Irisa can you please come with me?” It was Gretta. They both followed her into a guest bedroom. Cara was on the bed. She looked physically okay. Her cheeks were damp with tears.
“What is life? Why am I here? I don't belong here.”
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It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.
J K Rowling
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He is my bestfriend, and by best friend I mean we occasionally grunt and stare awkwardly at each other. We even have conversations, sometimes...
Warm Bodies
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You took advantage of everything you knew about me- which wasn’t easy information to get in the first place- and you were selfish and stubborn so I was spiteful and sour. And you can think I’m petty or ridiculous or mean, just don’t start thinking I miss you.
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My Wraiths - Chapter 2
Charlie walked along the long hallway past her bedroom and her parents. The quiet patting of her feet sounded like an avalanche against the deafening silence. Turning a corner she was met with the eyes of Gretta – who was her maid. Gretta bowed her head. Charlie did the same but then she walked up to her and hugged her. Gretta had been like a mother to Charlie since she could remember. Gretta had first come into her life at the age of 3 being her governess for many years but when it was time for Charlie to grow up and Gretta to leave. Charlie begged her parents to let her stay. That's when she became the maid of the house. Always cleaning up or washing something. Slowly Gretta had become more and more faded. Her hair was now grey and fraying at the ends like an old piece of cloth. Her rosy red cheeks were slowly wrinkling. However the light in her eyes shone brighter each day and that gave Charlie hope. Her actual mother was absent in the mind of Charlie and since then Gretta had taken her place.
“How are you today, my dear?” Gretta spoke softly. The love she had in her heart going into every word.
“I'm good, I guess. I'm sad that Irisa and Cara had to go so soon but they said they had to go. There was no reason but I trust them.” Charlie had a glint of sadness in her eyes. The time that Irisa and Cara stayed was never enough. It always seemed to be cut short.
“Oh, dear, don't worry. You only have to sleep then they will be back tomorrow. Anyway, how's the first week of been fifteen?” Gretta had a warm smile. It was like a virus. You couldn't help but smile back.
“It's alright. It doesn't feel much different to be honest.” Charlie replied, almost forgetting about her birthday already.
“You better be off to bed now, lovey.” Gretta ushered. Charlie nodded and headed to her bedroom. Something felt strange. She could only hear her own footsteps no one else. She looked back and saw no sign of Gretta. She couldn't have been that quiet; she was quite a large lady with stumpy little legs. Charlie rushed to her room feeling like one hundred eyes were on her.
Seeing her inviting and warm bed, she ran across the room and jumped in. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she drifted off but just before she nodded off she could see Cara, Irisa, Mamrie and Gretta all stood around her.
Soft warm sand lay around Charlie. This wasn't her bed. This was a beach. Why was she at the beach? It was hot and burning. It wasn't just sand. She was sinking faster and faster. It was engulfing her like a meal. It wasn't painful but wasn't pleasant either; it felt like sandpaper. She could see the sea dissapearing. She tried to move but nothing worked. Petrified and panicked, she started to drown in the sand. All sight of the sky had gone and she was subducted. Then a cold sensation hit her foot. Then her legs until she was completed free from the warmth of the sand. She was floating in a transparent, jelly-like viscous. She felt free and weightless. Then she fell and hit a cold floor, she groaned in agony. Her bones ached and her head pounded. Then she saw two figures in front of her. Her parents. Her dad was a balding old man – who looked like he wanted to go to the pub and down 80 pints and drown in his sorrows. Her mother was a young women who looked like she had grown up too early. She had almost forgotten the horrors which were her parents all the screaming. Then her mother spoke but she couldn't hear her.
“Mother, what are you saying? I can;t hear you.” Her mother's face grew more with concern and pain.
“Mother! Are you okay?” Her father turned to look at her mother but he turned away and ran. Her mother began to scream but still she could not hear her.
“MOTHER?” Charlie cried. Tears filling her eyes. Her mother looked like she had just aged 1000 years. Charlie could only make out three words which she was screaming at her. I love you. Tears were streaming down both of their faces, as her mother fell into the dark void behind her. Disapearing form all of reality. Charlie was alone and crying in this dark, cold room.
“Charlie? Are you okay? CHARLIE WAKE UP!” It was Gretta. Charlie's bed sheets were damp. It was still dark outside. Gretta started to hug her.
“It's fine, darling. I'm here. I'm going to stay with you now.” Charlie cries into gretta's night gown. Her warm arms wrapped around her made her feel safe. Only one thought crossed Charlie's mind, what did that dream mean?
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Translation of the Mind - Part 1
“It's oh so cold isn't it dear?” spoke the old women, “I wish I had a warm woolly hat and scarf like you.” I gazed at her with the most warm look I could give but I wasn't very successful. She just stared, waiting for a reply like most people spend their lives. I look to her eyes they are soft and full of memories like looking through a kaleidoscope.
“I assure you my woolly hat and scarf are not sufficient. I hate the cold but sometimes like it. At least cold is kind, if you are really cold it numbs you of the pain rather than heat just gives you heat stroke. Winter is kind and summer is mean. That's my opinion on the weather and my bus is now arriving so if you'll excuse me, I'll be boarding.” I simply nod and walk towards the bus but before I hear the women's voice again.
“Oh, dear. It's my bus too. Going to down town are we?” She says, I can now smell her now. The smell of decay but almost alive as well.
“Yes, I am.” I keep my answer short as not to invoke a conversation.
“Why might that be?” She speaks softly but with a tone of inquisitiveness. I look towards, her eyes have changed. They are full of hunger but not for a burger or chocolate. She seems different. I realise. I pull my pistol out from behind my belt and shoot her straight in the head. Everyone looks at me with a look of despair for humanity.
I turn and walk down the street. I feel the eyes on me like bullets to my brain. They know who I am but they don't know what to do about it. It was a simple fact to me but to them it was like a maze combined with advanced mathematics. I hate the way they look at me as if I'm criminal. I'm not the criminal. I won't become the criminal.
I can see all of them now. They are everywhere and alert. Every old and slightly withered person were silent. Everyone else looked scared. They knew who I am and what I do.
I walked into the old shopping centre making sure no-one was following me. Went to the stairs and grabbed the rope. I was pulled up. This is our hideout. This is our home. This is where we live and eventually die.
“Thanks, R.” I say. We all have code names we aren't allowed to use our actual names.
“No problem, S.” That was me S. There were only twenty of us left. There were twenty six.
I walk into the conference room. Eyes glue to me as soon as I arrive. Murmurs went around the room. A chorus of questions swarmed my ears. I could see all of my so called friends but if I'm truthful I don't have any, you can't trust anyone in times like these.
“Any news?” I say, a sharp tone to my voice with impatience mingled in.
“No, we still don't know how to stop them.” K says. He looks shaky as per usual. Must have been a nervous creature in his last life but who I am to guess? No one knows anything about the others. It's something we keep to ourselves. Secrets create bate and they can sniff them out. The more people who know the secret the more obvious your scent becomes. That's what happened to Y. She was with her boyfriend C, she told a secret to him. He swore he told no-one else. He lied, he told J – who was his best friend – and before you knew it they were out collecting food and boom they became a prisoner of them. I have always kept things to myself before anything broke out. You can't trust anyone and that's the truth.
I sigh and walk to my “office”. It's a small damp room with a desk in the middle. I don't use the desk for paper work but for modifying weaponry and defences. I am there 'leader' but I just stick to my gut and it's always right. The others seemed to have accepted that. Luckily for them, I was well trained with weapons and fighting skills.
They were afraid of me for I could kill them. Their prisoners could do no harm but I can. I've killed to many. Even my own grandmother when she became one. I don't feel guilty for it because she wasn't her. I know that now but at the time I spent nights crying and weeping in self pity. Drowning in my own thoughts but now I've learnt not to let myself be weak. It's the only way.
I start to look at the machine gun in front of me before I hear a huge amount of mumbling next door. There was no meeting and no missions. I began to wonder what it was but I didn't let my curiosity get to me.
“S!S!” I hear R shouting. “Come quick!” I jump off my chair and run towards the door. I carry on through the hallway – a bit of water dripping on my forehead. I open the door to the other room and see a boy. He's my age, middle height and looks tired and frail. His eyes are a normal colour so he must be normal. He looks terrified.
“Who are you? Don't say your name, just who you are.” I ask, the little crowd goes quiet.
“I'm an escaped prisoner from the things. I just ran here when I saw you go in here. I escaped them.” He speaks fast and with little breath.
“Welcome to our humble abode. My name is S, I am the leader of this...'Society'. You do as I say you can stay, break the rules and we offer you to them. Any questions?” I speak harshly since I don't think he'll last long and I want to get through the cry baby facade.
“Um...what are they?” He asks. He looks worried probably scared of the answer he might get.
“As far as we know they're aliens. They feed of secrets and knowledge. The more secrets, the more they can smell you so don't tell anyone anything.”
“Why old people?”
“They have more secrets and memories than a baby for example.”
“What is that thing in my neck?”
“An implant, makes you not be able to keep a secret. If I asked for you name you'd have to tell me. Those aliens are stupid and have not put in a tracker. I believe we can get it out, is that right F?”
“Yes it is. We can remove it now if you'd like?” F asks. He is the doctor of this camp.
“Thank you.” The newcomer says.
“This way.” F leads the boy off and everyone looks at me waiting for me to say something.
“Get back to work the lot of you.” I scowl as they run back to work. They feared but respected me because I was the first to stand up against the aliens.
I walk into the doctors room and see a bloody neck and an implant in a bowl. I also see the newcomer breathing heavily on the chair. He looks relived but in pain. It's almost too much for him to take but he comes back round and looks me in the eyes.
“What should everyone call me if I can't say my name?” He says. His eyes look alert and like someone is going to attack him, it was also evident by his fists and blood pumping through his neck.
“It's ok, no one is going to attack you and you shall be called 1.”
“1?”
“Yeah, all the alphabet is taken up so you'll have to start the new 10.”
“If you were – as I am presuming – the frist of these people-”
“Correct.”
“Why aren't you A?”
“I never liked that much, I preferred S if I am honest.”
“I think there's more to it than that.” 1 gives me a look and I know that cocky smile. He thinks he can crack me with his good looks and charms but it won't work.
“If there were, which there isn't, I couldn't tell you because secrets to them are like a piece of food to a dog. They can sniff it out for miles. They won't come here but they'll know where you are. They'll find you and take you.”
“Sorry. Am I always going to have to do as you tell me?”
“Yes. Yes you are. If you want to die, go against me. I don't care about who I kill just what does the killing and your not even worth a weapon to me. I'd do it with my bear hands. Are we understood?”
“No. Why should I follow you?” I see that cocky look in his eyes. It sparks something in me. I grabbed his collar and hold him at least a foot above him.
“You will do as I say. I know what I am doing and I'm not wrong ever. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. I am the only one who has survived since the beginning so take my word over you own. Are we understood?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yes.” He says, choked ever so slightly. I place him down and let him fall. I turn my back as he starts to get up and I hear him mutter under his breath.
“Why are all the hot chicks crazy?” I chuckle to myself. He thinks I'm crazy he hasn't seen the world enough.
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When Life Gives You Lemons...Scream
I walked into the cold, dark hospital. A dark dread spread across my stomach as I saw the empty waiting room. The silver chairs seemed to be whispering to each other, wondering who was sick and what with. The lift beeped signifying it was coming to my floor. It took a few seconds before the doors slowly opened revealing a nurse who looked young but her face was worn down and tired. She gave the best smile she could and pushed past me. I stood in the back of the lift, pressing my back against the bar. I didn't like lifts much. They were too small and stuffy and once it began to move until the next floor you could not get out. As you can tell, I don't like most things. Luckily for me I was only going to the second floor.
The lift beeped as I stepped out of the doors. I breath in. Fresh air filled my lungs. I sighed. I could see the number on the back of the door. Room 11. I stared at it for a while. Debating whether to go or not. I knew I wanted to go but some sort of feeling was stopping me. It was like my instinct knew not to go in that room. I should have known better. Down the hallway, my feet patted harshly against the silence. I hated that sound. It sounded like I was going somewhere when in reality I didn't feel like I was moving. The hallway seemed to get longer and longer the closer I got. Room 11 was whispering to me. Drawing me in like a fishing rod.
I eventually reached the room. My hand was on the door knob – ready to open. My hands began to shake viciously. My palms become sweating and my heart began to pump. I must go in. I cannot run from this any longer. I thought to myself.
Pushing the door open, I looked at the sight in front of me. My mother - or what looked to be – laying on an old hospital bed, with a hospital gown with hospital equipment attached all over her. I sat down on the soft seat next to the bed. I held her hand. She was cold...inhumanly cold. Her body was still. I could just hear her breathing. All that told me that she was alive was the monitor machine which was opposite me. The beep of the machine was steady and calm.
“Hey mum...how are you doing?...good, good. Sorry I haven't been to visit in a while. You know teenage girl doing normal teenage stuff I guess. Well, I'm good and so is dad. I don't think dad cares about you. He brings back a girl every night. I can hear them and it isn't...nice. I can understand you now. I'm sorry I was so awful when it happened. I just couldn't understand at the time. I'm better now but I miss you. I hate dad. He doesn't care about me or you. He just drinks his sorrows then drinks the hangover away after. I have to provide for myself. Fortunately I have a job in the little book store, you know the one of the old market lane? Well, I try to do what I can with what's provided – which isn't much – and what I earn.” The beep began to speed up.
“I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else. How about trees and nature? I remember you going on about them and me been me always made fun of you but now I realise how beautiful it is. I can see why my dad called you mother nature. You are very pretty and fresh. Even when the sun doesn't shine you never seem to get down. It's amazing really. I'm not like you at all. Then again I am a teenage girl so you know...hormones.” I sat uncomfortably in my chair. I was so used to hearing a sarcastic remark but all I could hear was soft breaths and the annoying beating of the moniter.
“Well, school is well school. So okay, I guess but not really. You said school was easy. It's not the same story here. It sucks. I am the only one in the school who can see the big picture of all life but when I express my self I am beaten down. I don't get people. Actually I don't get stupid people. They aren't actually intelligently stupid but just stupid. They think life is like a game and once you win a laugh or a kiss of the school's hottest popular girl that they have won. Then they find the next things to give their life purpose. These are the people who put me down because there eyes are so focused on the phone screen below them they can't see everything else in the world. I try my best to be different. A unique fish in a school of undifferentiated ones. I know there are others like me but they are too scared to speak out against these life draining tunas. I don;t know why I am talking about people like they are fish. I can see why people put me down and make me feel like...well like I'm worthless.” I look down to my arm. There was a bloody bangage. I had used it to cover up at school because it'll just make things worse.
“Can you keep a secret? I'm currently cutting. I can't help it. If I can't find purpose, I might as well give myself some purpose. I know you would hit me on the back of my head with a magazine then tell me how much of an idiot I am with that goofy smile and I'd stop for three weeks but now I don't see that smile. I just see an empty face. I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I know it's not my fault and everyone keeps telling me that but I can't help but feel guilty. No one seems to care. They all do the same thing. Tap my on the back and say everything will be alright. At first it was reassuring but then I started questioning it. I lead myself into a deep spiral. It was like I was screaming but no one could hear me. I was screaming so loud but everyone was death.” The heart monitor began to furiously beep.
“I'm okay. I'm sorry.” The monitor kept beeping. Getting faster and faster.
“Mum, I'm sorry. I'm fine. I just want you alive. I want you alive.” I started sobbing furiously. “MUM! PLEASE!” Tears poured down my face and my heart raced just as fast as hers. My breathing went frantic but everywhere else seemed to be paralysed. That's when it happened. That's when the hell opened up and swallowed me. The long beep. The monitor was one single line.
“Mum? Come on mum, this is a joke.” I began to shake her. “Mum? Mum! MUM! MUM PLEASE. WAKE UP. I NEED YOU. I NEED YOU. PLEASE. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! Please...I need you. I need you please. Please mum.”
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A Short Lived Road Trip
Sara put the key in the slot. Turned it, then the engine came to life. Next to her sat Blake - who was her boyfriend - and her bestfriend - Denice - and her boyfriend - Aaron - sat behind. They were going on a long road trip across the United States. It was hot, humid and sweaty. However the excitement overuled it.
Denice jumped forward to the front. She had a Ce in her hand anmed ‘Road Trip Rock’. She put the disk in and pressed play. The first song was ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen. Aaron fist pumped the air and a wide grin spread across his face. Denice joined in singing along to the high engery lyrics. Blake and Sara gave each other a puzzled look. Eyebrows quirked, Sara shrugged and began to drive away from the house.
It had been two hours. The songs had got old and so did everyones energy. It was getting darker as the day began to wither away. Sara’s eyes began to burn from diving. Denice and Aaron were chatting away. Giggling and flirting, they were the sterotypical young love. Bake was reading a book. His brow filled with concentration.
“I have to pee.” Aaron announced to all the car’s population.
“You’ll have to wait.” Sara remarked.
“Just stop by that tree and I’ll go.”
“Fine.” The sky was pitch black and al you could see was where the car lights illuminated. Sara could see Aaron waddle towards the dead-looking tree. She was sure she could see somthing moving in the grass but shook her head. Blake sighed with fustration.
Suddenly the car lost power. Lights off, Aaron was nowhere to be seen. Sara rushed to restart the engine. Denice’s arm began to shake as did Sara’s.
“Quickly, quickly, quickly!” Denice cried. Blake was trying to look for Aaron out of the window but the confused look on his face said it all. Finally the lights came on but eveyone wished they hadn’t.
Aaron was hanging from the tree. His entire body covered in scratch wounds and blood. Denice’s ear-breaking scream broke the deafening silence. Her hands covered her eyes, whilst tears poured down her cheeks.
Blakes head was frozen out the window. His eyes wide and fixed to the sight before him. Petrified and shocked, he closed his eyes.
Sara could not believe what was in front of her. Blinking constantly hoping it was just a dream but no. He was utterly and truly dead.
Sara could see something moving towards the car. She turned to warn Blake but it was too late. His head was rolling on the ground as blood squirted everywhere.
Both girls where screaming but then two screams turned to one. Sara looked behind her. Denice was alive but her tounge was gone. Then the car lights flicked and she had no eyes. Her arms began to flail frantically. Another flicker and her ears were gone. Then she was still and fell forwards. There was a hole in the back of her head.
Sara pushed down the pedal as hard as she could, racing down the street. Trying to escape the thing. The bodies were rolling eveywhere. Blood covering the car. She felt a littler bit safer but not a lot. She was zooming away from everything.
But she felt a hand on her shoulder...
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The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love.
Margaret Atwood
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I really like this. Not the best qualilty but I really like the style. Hope you enjoy!
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