Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Chilling
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1571 guests online and 1 member online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| Chilling | |
| By 01crusea | ||||||||
| 22 October 2007 | ||||||||
|
Entirely spontaneous on a boring friday night, a kind of gothic inspiration came to me to write this piece. I certainly don't think it's anything original, but looking back at it there seems to be an underlining question asked of human morality. I find myself awoken in the night. For want of a more cautious approach, I am helpless to do anything but wander in the direction of seemingly a thousand voices; voices so chilling my very bones want to seize up out of sheer terror. Each step I take is reminiscent of the next one – one nightmare after another. Powerless to turn away as I am, natural curiosity compels me to end this frightfully intriguing search for what hidden characters I am so unwillingly aware of. And suddenly, a room full of murky figures call me to them. They use nothing but air and mystery to drag me in, with hands not like any I’ve seen before. They look old. Tattered and worn. If nothing else, they look forgotten. These souls and spirits aren’t normal; I’m not even sure if they’re human. But still, I rather find it sensational that there’s something quite brilliantly cold about being in their presence. “No further,” says the one I assume as their leader, in a voice so subtle and chilling it dominates my desire not to oblige. “Where am I?” I ask. But of course, I know exactly where I am: this is my own yard; my own home. Though it is unlike anything I’ve even known it to be – the windows steamed and misty, by what I don’t know, the doorframe older than usual, more rotted. The entire image is darker than the very latest time I ever have witnessed. Nevertheless, it must certainly be the same place I’ve lived all these years. It’s just different. Disregarding the mid-year season, trees and plants shrivel to no end in proximity to their visitors. What warmth and comfort I have looked to create over all my time here is gone – now nothing more than a distant memory or an evocative delusion. And again, the voice, “You are with us now...” And with that, my familiar abode is gone. I am nowhere to be found by either sense or my senses. I am in a new place. And it is most definitely not a place that I’ve known for years. It is relatively strange to me, yet it feels completely unsurprising. Fighting against all logic that I have never been here before, I feel like I should have been expecting this. CLANG! An intense grip is wrapped round my leg with what I can only guess to be some sort of metal shackle! With such strange practice – and the sounds of slave-driven industry, nothing like the sort I could ever have imagined before – I can think of no other conclusion: this place is some sort of encampment. I feel as if this is some kind of purgatorial region – between the action and reaction of how I chose to live my life. And suddenly, all is completely obvious. I will enter this world alone and helpless. I will forever be kept here, and driven like the figures I see all around me. I, and indeed all those lonesome figures, are to be punished for our wrongs. Just like every other miserable former person in sight, my individuality has been stripped from me to reveal exactly what I deserve. This is undoubtedly not my home. This place isn’t even of my world. The figures that guide me are the life of this new world. But somehow, both it and they seem to have existed for eternity. Just as long as human life has disgraced itself, it has gone on to suffer the consequences in this place. Indeed, all is clear to me now. As the line I find myself in is dragged into the light, I see fire – walls of flame and fiery wrath with no other purpose but to drive those they surround to pain. I see masses of suffering wrongdoers – punished in their new life for everything they did in the old. I see everlasting hurt as far as the eye can see. Never did I think that this is what would become of my sins. This is a different world to mine, but it runs entirely parallel to it. Just as one must exist, so must the other with it. This world is old. This place I know. This is hell. This is death.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|