Mysty_Fox
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posted on 9-2-2010 at 12:21 AM
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Once Upon a Night (Feedback Welcome!)
Okay, my second Writing Thread. All Comments and criticism welcome.
The Full Moon
Today something happened that has changed my entire view on life, I watched someone die. His blood stains my hands, the hands that hold this very pen.
My heart beats in my chest, a rhythmical pulsing that echoes in the silence I have dared not to break, since his screams ended.
The silence has enveloped me, but his cries, his pleadings; they still ring in my ears, reverberating in my mind, slowly driving me towards the deep
end of insanity. But this wasn’t how I started out, and although I know my end is near, I must write.
I know that if my words don’t read true they shall be taken wrongly, like the truth locked in its coffin, made of half-truths, stolen lies, cold
hatred and blazing fury…
((If you want more, pm me.))
Once Upon a Night
...Then he sat up yawning widely and she lit of the apartment, her decision made, moisture welling in her eyes, drowning her soul inside. Once out in
the brisk morning chill she let herself disappear into the crowds of people already out and about. Relishing, and mourning her one night with Jason,
all while she fled from him, and his fiancée.
With a yawn he woke, searching for the willing, warm body he had so thoroughly loved and had been so well loved by, only to find her gone. He shifted
to a sitting position, groggily rubbing his eyes, noticing she wasn’t even in the room, his Brianna. Her golden hair, her playful baby blues, her hot
silken body lush with curves and smooth planes; it was all gone.
He stretched, missing her already, when his hand encountered a piece of paper. He lifted it, squinting to read the intricate scrawling of another’s
hand. ‘Thanks for the memories Jason. ~Brianna’, a small heart lingered near her name and when he brushed his hand across it, the ink smeared, she was
still close. He lurched out of bed, tugging on a pair of worn jeans that lay thrown over a chair, barreling out of his apartment. But the second his
feet touched the cold asphalt he knew, and dread filled his stomach like bitter defeat. She was gone, like a lost dream…
((I would have posted more, but I just wanted to see if it intrigued anyone. Message me if you want to read more. 
His Thief
They passed in the hallway, their eyes never meeting, not even acknowledging each other’s presence. She was headed home after a long night out, and he
was going to work, she touched her apartment door as he touched the down button for the elevator.
She slipped into her apartment yawning widely a hand running absently through the mass of her thick black, silken hair. He steps out the elevator and
into the bright sunshine that fills the room, his eyes squinting as he walks through the revolving door into the brisk morning air, his hand waving as
he greets old friends as he gets into his dusty SUV.
She slips out of her black pants, her black top and drops her bag on the counter. As the black knapsack spills over, green cash falling out and about,
some cascading to the tile floor, accompanied by the clatter of precious metal on the counter and floor.
She idly thinks of picking up her newly acquired toys but shrugs and heads off towards her bedroom. There she climbs into bed, the curtains drawn
tight, her comforter warm as she snuggles deeper, and she’s asleep before she finishes her next yawn.
He steps into the crowded building where activity flourishes. A few fans already are circulating the humid air, scented with sweat, stale coffee.
Curses, and angry accusations fly, followed with a few fists slammed to old desk tops, stacked high with papers.
He waves to some of his coworkers, stopping to check with a snitch, grabbing a cup of the hideous brew Murphy called coffee.
"Anything new?" He asked, gulping the luke-warm brew.
His partner, an older man, with tired grey eyes looked up, sighing, tugging at the stringy goatee he had sported for almost twenty years.
“Damn it Ryan, the thief got away with another 2 million in cash and jewels! And we have nothing. No finger prints, no DNA, nada.” Murphy stared down
at the case file, and slammed his fist down, making his old coffee cup jump.
“We’ve gotta find this damn guy!”
((Again, just a sampling of what I have written. )
Nightmares
A scream cut across the wind, unheard by the small child upon the old tire swing. The wind whistled and shrilled through the leaves of the big oak
tree, she watched as some leaves fell to dance freely upon the wind. Huge dark clouds built on the horizon, rising like burnt marshmallows, carrying
the scent of welcome rain. She hummed a soft lullaby, her head tilting from side to side, her feet kicking at the dirt, her long hair playing with the
wind. Birds hid, seeking a safe haven from the storm, and other evil dangers.
The little girl glanced up at her mother's house on the hill, it was big and grand, but to her it was spooky and scary. She could almost feel the
fingers of ghosts past drag their cold fingers over her heart as a thrum of fear clutched her. Slowly she pulled out of the rubber tire that had
cradled her body, her soft brown eyes wide as she moved closer to the house, something was wrong, she could feel it. Her bare feet making the drying
grass crackle under her feet, a couple of bugs sent scurrying away, just like she felt like doing. As she neared the house the feeling only
intensified, "Mommy?" Her voice shrill with panic and fear.
Nobody answered, not Mommy, not Mrs. Little, not even Barkie made a sound. Her lips quivering, her chin trembling, her eyes filled with moisture,
again she called, "Mommy!?" Terror ringing through, chilling her to the bone. She stepped up to the huge wooden door, and grasped the handle,
tugging hard to get it to pull slightly open.
Something had filled the air, but what? She didn't know except she didn't like it. She moved into the dark hallway that led to the kitchen and
living room. "Mommy?" Her voice only a whisper, and gone before it fell on hearing ears. She peeked around the corner, unsure, and hoping for her
mommy, but no one was there.
The little girl spotted her bunny, Hoppity, lying on the floor. The faded blue bunny wet with a brownish red moisture, but she clung to it. She held
up her little friend, "Where's mommy?" She asked the soft worn rabbit, a single tear slid down her dirt streaked cheeks, falling with a plop to the
linoleum of the kitchen floor, and she heard a thump. She whirled, again and again until she was dizzy, she didn't know where the sound had come
from.
She hugged her bunny closer, soft whimpers escaping from her, she crept into the kitchen, nothing was out of place, or out of the ordinary. She moved
through the kitchen, seeking anyone. She slipped into the living room, and saw Mrs. Little on the couch, the t.v. off for once. The little girl rushed
over to Mrs. Little, crying, asking why she didn't answer. The old lady with chubby cheeks, the very image of a Mrs. Claus, didn't stir, in fact
nothing the little girl tried worked.
Upset, the little girl moved onward, hoping her mommy would wake up to talk to her unlike Mrs. Little. She moved into her mother's bedroom, tears
coursing down her cheeks, now pale with fear. Her grip on her bunny increased greatly when her mother wasn't there. "Mommy!" She cried out, unable
to stay quiet anymore. Nothing but her echo greeted her.
She swallowed the lump of emotion that had formed in her throat, and started running, glancing into every room, "Mommy! Mommy, where are you!?" Her
voice bouncing off the walls of the large house, as she raced through the house, then she slipped in something. She fell, with a crack on her elbow,
and smacking her head into the wall, she lay on the ground, and noticed what had caused her to fall; a river of something lukewarm and metalliacy. It
was redish brown, and she opened her mouth to screa-.
She woke with a jolt, her body covered with sweat, her muscles quivering, ready for a fight or flight. She grabbed for the lamp on her bedside table,
her hands clumsy and clammy. Her soft gasps greeted the night, and her pupils shrank as the golden light filled the room. She tore at her covers, and
found her only source of comfort anymore; Hoppity. She clutched the ratty old rabbit, it's left gone, and it's patched fur, it no longer bore traces
of blood, only tears.
Her mother's, Barkie's and Mrs. Little's killer had never been caught, and now, more then ever before, she felt horribly alone, isolated and
scared. At twenty-three it had been sixteen years, twelve spent in and out of foster homes, and four fighting to find a place in the chaos called
life. "C'mon Bunny! Stop whining like a baby!" She scolded herself, forcing her body to stop quivering and her breathing to resume a normal pace.
She stepped from the swayed-back bed, tossing the covers to the ground as she stood on shaky legs, and moving toward the kitchen of her little house.
A thump in the livingroom drew her, as much as it scared her, "Who's there?"She picked up a crystal vase she had bought only a short while ago,
holding it high as she entered the living room. Darkness hid any form from her sight, and she felt her heart start to beat faster, and faster, and
faster, thrumming like a drum in her chest.
She drew uneven breaths into her starving lungs, her stomach tossing and clenching from her panic, "I said who's here?!" Her voice bouncing off the
walls, screaming back at her. Her hand dug desperately at the wall, searching for a light switch, scratching at the wall, and she found it, with a
breath of relief. More golden light rushed into the room, illuminating what had been cloaked in an indigo, ebony darkness.
Nothing looked out place, and nothing seemed distured, then she heard the crash of glass. She whirled, her heart skipping a beat, then pain lanced
through her. She'd stepped on a large shard of the vase she'd been holding. Crimison bloomed on her cheeks, as she limped over to the closet to get
her broom and dust-pan, blood trailing behind her. She cleaned up the glass, then set to work on her foot on the bathroom, trailing small puddles of
blood behind.
As she dabbed at the cut on her foot she heard another noise, this one in her bedroom. Slowly she set her foot down, and felt another thrum of fear
settle in her heart, she slipped down the hall, limping quietly. She peeked into her room, but nothing was there, and she went to enter and felt the
hand cover her mouth, silencing her scream...
And if you didn't happen to see my first thread, I've included the link: http://www.hauntingechoes.com/viewthread.php?tid=16908
Again, all comments are welcome. 
I stop- watching his
tears, falling faster
then rain slowly slipping away
I contemplate- glittering
water, flowing, rippling
tarnished hazy crimson
I see- fading dark
sequined with sparkling sad stars
and melancholy moon
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StraightOuttaValhalla
Holy Posts Batman!
Points: 2014
Last active: 9-9-2010 at 08:13 PM
Location: Diagnostic Imagining Facility
Member Is Online
Mood: I see a red door and I want to paint it black
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posted on 9-2-2010 at 12:56 AM
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You don't know how to use semicolons.
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MedicinalCreativityPlant
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posted on 9-2-2010 at 02:21 AM
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What the shit?
I'm not reading that.
Don't colour them.
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kameemaharu
I WILL DEMOLISH YOU!!!
Points: 3509
Last active: 7-9-2010 at 10:01 PM
Location: simcoe ontario canada
Member Is Offline
Mood: is In- Flames
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posted on 9-2-2010 at 02:54 AM
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i liked them, nightmares was one of my favorites. good job, but i think
you are putting way.. way too much detail into some parts, detail is good, but too much just drags it on.
 
"a horizon of blood is kataklysmic kahos" - me |
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