|
|
|
<center>i just worked on a story for you guys, but my ******** computer had to lock up as i was posting it, and i couldnt recover it. god damn it all.. i'l try to retype it.. but it was so good as it was.. god damn it all!!! i cant say much today. i'm gonna try to recover it. more updates later..
aha!! it tookme half an hour, but i got it. i fixed it.. lets see if the damn thing'll post...
I sit here, another long, late, sleepless night. Before me is the soft glow of the monitor, the room lit by the warm, golden glow of the lamp beside me. Whole house is silent, my family sleeping as the clock strikes the midnight hour, the silence broken only by the soft mur of the computer as they work to carry out the tasks I request of them, and the constant, almost rhythmic pounding as my fingers hit the keys of my keyboard as I work on.
For hours I have toiled, editing this, writing that, posting here and there, role-playing, chatting, working, writing, and constantly doing something. Occasionally I hear a noise or feel something brush my leg, but I think nothing of it. After all, it’s only my imagination.
As the clock nears the half-hour mark, I begin to hear a soft, moaning sound, so quiet and distant, almost a purr, as though from the contented form of my beloved cat, Little Bit, who was currently outside. Still, it did not bother me, for I brushed it aside. Probably the sound of the computer as it works towards the new programs I am running.
For a while more I work, the sound continuously growing in intensity, until it is almost deafening, and then it becomes constantly recognizable as the moans of the wounded and dying, the screams of pain of those in torture, the yelling of those who have lost beloved, whimpering and moaning of cowards and the weak as they beg for their lives; the sounds of those cursed by fate; their lives ruined by man and by nature, as everything thing they had known was torn from them.
My body tensing some, I struggled to fight off the feeling of nerves; I have had this before. I thought I had been over it.. My imagination, he had said. All in my head. Nothing to worry about, he told me time and again. But his words were not very comforting at the moment, as cold sweat began to dampen my clothing along my shoulders and back, sending a soft chill up my spine.
I forced myself to carry on, ignoring the sounds, images flashing before my eyes as I thought of the pain these people had suffered, and seeing before me the scenes of this pain. Shaking myself, I forced myself to concentrate on my work. What was I doing again...?
I struggled to remain cool and calm, to keep a grip on my sanity. It wasn’t there, I kept telling myself. I was ok; my family across the house would come to my assistance should I call for them, even if they were sometimes rather cruel.
Finally finding what I had been working on, I worked for a little longer, shivering very softy occasionally. The temperature of the room seemed to drop; the air becoming frigid like the night outside. Pulling about my shoulders the blanket I had brought from my room the night before, I settled down in my computer chair.
Finishing a few more edits, I began to submit them onto the internet, to set up in my website, I gradually began to relax, realizing that nothing had come for me yet, and telling myself that nothing would, until felt something brush against my leg.
I started in fright and shuddered, rubbing at my leg, knowing nothing was there. I began typing, not really aware of what I was typing. My body began to tense as I felt something cold and hard curl about my angle, and begin to tighten painfully. Gasping in pain, I forced myself not to look down, sinking my teeth hard into my lip. This was not happening.
Still it tightened, threatening to break the very bone of my leg. As it gripped harder and harder, I felt something crumb away as it was forced against my flesh. I looked down then; my biggest mistake.
There, gripping my ankle, its mouth open ajar, the flesh rotting, grime clinging to its ragged clothing, its flesh disintegrating, half eaten away by the maggots that crawled throughout its form. It was the carcass of a poor, wretched creature, its life stolen from it by the cruelty of fate; through the destructive power of man or nature, and now it sought my life in repent for its own; for me to suffer as it had.
I gasped, the putrid smell of rotting flesh and urine, mixed with the acidic, copper-tinged wreak of blood now apparent in the icy air of the room, almost a physical blow to my senses, bringing forth nausea and leaving me slightly dazed.
Forcing myself into action, I kicked at the creature, my entire body shuddering all over, desperate to get away from it and to get away. Finally, under the constant attack, the brittle, exposed bone gave way, shattering. To my disgust, the skeletal hand, with the rotting flesh still barely clinging to it, was attached still to my ankle. I forced it off and threw it, bounding from my chair, struggling not to be sick as I turned to the nearest exit to see, to my horror, the room that had once been my gameroom transformed.
From the walls oozed blood in waves, as though pumped from a still-beating, living heart, dripping to the floor and oozing in puddles, the smell almost unbearable. From the ceiling hung the severed head of my family and friends, their eyes cold and dead, white and sightless in death. Right before my eyes were the once blue eyes of my older brother, who I had teased and made fun of but hours ago, in playful banter, saying stupid mess to him in play, now, obviously, dead.
Around the room lay the carnage, the remains of these people, their severed bodies now seeming to be cut, blown, smashed into oblivion? I tried to tear my eyes away from their faces, pale, with screams forever frozen onto their features.
I fell to my knees admits the blood, my entire body shuddering, unable to see anything but the carnage and death that was before me, threatening to be sick, my heart racing as it was dragged down into the deepest pits of my soul. I knew then the feeling of complete and total terror, beyond anything from stories, rides, or games. I knew that I would die, as they had, and I was totally alone. There was no one to help me.
Kneeled there, for how long I did not know. The seconds passed in their own eternities, as their screams now roared in my ears, nearly deafening, louder then ever before. The voices became clear now and apparent who these people who had suffered were.
Finally, I gained control of myself. I knew I was still alive; I could feel the pain, though my body mostly numb, and hear the beating of my heart, and the burning of my lungs as I struggled to breathe, and I realized that my mouth was opened in a scream that had not come forth.
I stumbled to my feet, swaying slightly, as I foughtback the shock, and ran for the door, skidding to a stop nearly ankle deep in the blood of these people. There were more of these. Things. Waiting for me. I turned, and there at the other exits were more, barricading the doors with their own bodies.
I saw then only one way I could get through; the window. Without thinking, I braced myself and threw myself through the glass, feeling it tear at my flesh, sending constant, sharp pain throughout my body as the glass pierced through. I kneeled there for a second, gasping in pain, feeling the blood pour from the countless wounds on my back and shoulders.
Swaying slightly, I forced myself through the backyard, through the gateway, and into the darkness that was the cold winter night. There was no moon that evening, and the clouds that filled the sky, threatening rain, would have blocked out any light it had given if it were any other night.
Pulling forth my jacket, I headed on, unsure of where I was going. The pain from the glass almost unbearably, my body numb from cold and shock, fever burning at my pale cheeks as I trekked on, and soon the dull roar of thunder faded as the icy rain began to fall from the heavens, pounding at every inch of my body.
For hours I wondered, lost and only half awake, already my body and mind had been weakened from days without sleep, knowing that, behind me, were these undead creatures, and who knows what else, seeking my life.
Finally, I found myself somewhere on the highway, unsure of how far I had traveled or for how long. With no idea of where I was, I was unable to go any further, and sunk to my knees, shivering with cold, frostbite forming on my fingers and unprotected areas of my body, yet overheated with the constant effort to keep moving.
Before my eyes the world shifted in and out of focus, and I was barely aware of what was up or down, or that I was on my knees. Only could I see the rain and shadow. Gasping for air, I stared through the rain.
There was nothing more I had to give. I was spent; the last of my energy gone. I had no food, no warmth. No longer did I have a home or family to go to, and my best of friends were gone. Nothing was left for me to give but my life. I took one last, burning breath and yelled, my voice hoarse and cracked with emotion, tears burning at my exhausted, sleep-deprived eyes, I called to anyone. Or anything. That bothered to listen "come and get me, you filthy bastards!"
I swayed slightly, waiting for. Anything. But nothing came. No attack, no reply, nothing. For a split second, I had thought I would survive, until.
Before my eyes, they formed from the darkness and stood there, staring at me through sightless eyes. These creatures had no form, no body left. It had been taken from them by the elements. They just stood there, for a while. How longit was, I could not even tell. I gave up trying. They remained there, until they finally vanished into the mist, rain, and darkness, replaced by the sound of screeching times, and the blinding headlights of a bus.
The last I heard were the terrified screams of the passengers, the horn blaring. I lay there, staring up into the rain, tears running from my pale, fevered cheeks, mixing with the icy raindrops. My lungs began to fill with my blood, and I could not breathe. I could not feel the pain any longer, and was only distantly aware of the sound of voices, calling my name.
I whispered then to myself that it was only my imagination…
pic of the day</center>
 Silver_Flame118 · Tue Nov 09, 2004 @ 12:23am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
