Lucki
11-06-2006, 04:57 PM
It was in that moment. My world fell from beneath me. There was no ground strong enough to support me.
The woods were a vast uncharted land to my eyes, when I was young. They were haunting and sinister, merciless and dark. It was here the shadows dwelled, and my fears would creep out, crawling silently like a black widow spider at night, to spin its silvery icy web, so I would fall into its trap, to taunt me, and fill every waking moment with the solemn dread. The trees soared so high; they would disappear into the cloudless ashen sky. I would walk along the hidden rich muddy path, forged by feet that died a long time ago, while the arch of entwined branches covered me from the droplets of rain, spilled from the odd black cloud hovering above. Early in the morning this place was quite delightful, the harmony of the woods would fill your ears, with the sweet, sweet humming’s enriched with the drumming of rain as it cascaded down the leaves. A smell of freshness and pine enveloped me, and a sense of security banished my fears away, embracing me keeping me safe. But when the curtain would fall at dusk, the woods changed their mind, dusk was the error of passing, when good slept and the darkness stirred and woke. This time was of pure emptiness, no noise, a smell of damp, and arctic breezes rushed passed you, and dark crept in to fill your eyes. Once the night had set in, only the moon could give its light now. The stars were nestled, bounded for eternity in their own cages, sealed by the dark. The only noise was the rustle in the bushes, or the snapping of twigs underneath a heavy weight, the sign of something lurking in the night.
The river was the boundary of the dense labyrinth of trees. It flowed like blue velvet, collapsing over the pebbles, lapping gently against the banks. Underneath the sun it lay lazily. It sounded like the noise of gentle trickling.
The house stood imposingly. I used to have to hurl myself at the heavy oak doors to open them. Inside I feared greatly, a mist of damp, dankness hung heavily in the air. A strong smell of forgotten rations over powered your senses, it might as well be a dungeon as I spent a lot of time locked up in there. The wallpaper was dull and faded, pealing at the edges. The wooden floorboards were scuffed and creaked, when you crept across them. The stairs looked dangerously unsafe and brittle due to woodworm. The portraits sent shivers up my spine; they were of past ancestors looking glum, with stern cold glares. Some were Victorian with high frilly collars creeping up their necks, hair pinned up, and faces frightfully pale. The men wore suits, some with moustaches most with white wispy hair. Their eyes would follow me across the room, I could feel them burning on my back, piercing through my flesh, like knifes. The room where I slept was at the end of an absurdly thin corridor by the front door, so any creature sneaking in would find my room easily. There were two rooms down this corridor, a spare room, full of empty dusty boxes, and forgotten memories that were crammed away in photos and ancient diaries left unfinished. I tried to read them, yet when my grandmother found out this secret pastime, she replied with a repugnant look and a venomous comment, as to how diaries were people’s lives and you don’t go peering in people windows do you? I kept one though, hidden under the mattress, it was a beautiful book, the cover was a deep blue velvet, just like the midnight sky and on the inside cover, was a hand sketched drawing of oriental flowers entwined around the moon. I couldn’t bear to see such a beautiful life and book to lay in a dusty tomb. Then mine which smelt of roses, as there was a bush full of the reddest, sweetest roses your eye could ever see. They bloomed so brilliantly and glittered underneath the sun, which shone like a raging ocean of fire, burning you to ashes. In winter the roses still seemed to shine a luxurious blood red, and when against the pure silvery moonlike snow, they glowed brighter than the day.
I never went up the stairs, they were forbidden to me. All I knew that was up there was my grandmother’s room. From outside I could see a round circular window, above the second floor. There was another floor. I could just make out cobwebs covering it like curtains, and sometimes, I was sure, I could see a ghostly face of a man, peering out, scanning the horizon, and sometimes peering out at me. You could see sadness surround him, a feeling of hollowness that when you saw him you could feel.
In the summer I would spend all my time outside, with my best friend Greg, he had scruffy hair, blonde and wavy, I was sure he never brushed it. He was outgoing and active always climbing trees or up in the farm when I met him. He had a little brother, Matthew, I never talked to him much, he was always inside or playing with the animals. We were the greatest friends, and he was my excuse to never step foot near my grandmother, as every night at six, she would creak up the staircase and I would never see her until six in the morning. I would hear her footsteps upon the stair hearing them creak on the floorboards, then she would step past her bedroom door, and I would swear, I could hear her step up more stairs, as they died away in the distance. With this knowledge I could come home at five past six and get out the door at five to six, and no one would ever be the wiser. But with each week that reluctantly past, my curiosity would grow stronger and stronger, with each footstep echoing above my head. I needed to know what was in that room.
I knew Greg, when I was three, I still knew him when I was six, even when it happened, I still knew him when I was eight, and I still know him now. I guess I thought he had never really left me, as I knew him to well, he was my brother and I loved him as that, more then I ever loved anything. We were climbing trees, harmless, purely harmless. Greg was down by the river trees, swinging of them and falling hard into the water. I couldn’t get my dress wet; my grandmother said if I did I would regret it. I believed her threats and feared them more than fear itself. This is the reason I wanted her to die.
I left him laughing and smiling; when I came back he was blue. He was drifting in the water. Eyes frozen wide open. I never knew what happened, without thinking I clumsily fell into the water, the water hit me with freezing bitter coldness; I tried to claw the water to get towards him. I was numb; my hands were swollen and burning. I kicked frantically gulping the water and choking, I reached over pushing the water away. He was at the end of my fingertips, inches away and I couldn’t get to him. My breaths were short puffs, and as I panicked the water rushed over me, my shoes heavy, pulling me down. It took all my energy trying not to drown. I tried to scream, my shouts came out as whispers. My throat closed up and a lump swelled inside, I was too tired to cry, so it burned and pained me instead. My mouth was dry. It felt like hours of kicking and splashing my arms about, every muscle ached, and the longer I took, the more I thought it was too late. Again I reached out, forcing my fingers to stretch, I gingerly prodded his checked jacket, only to find the water pulled him further away. A pain shot up my leg as the cold was eating it away. An arrow of need hit me, and determination was reinstated, I forced my muscles to move despite the pain, I begged my legs to kick, I pleaded with my brain to let me forget the cold, I glared down at my arms until they moved. Again I clawed at the water using my hands as a shovel, chucking the water away. My hands latched on to him, like a leach I would not let go. Cautiously I turned him over, half afraid of what he may look like. He remained stationary, no noise, no rise and fall of breath. With one hand I grabbed the roots of a river tree, and hearing my joints clicking, I hauled us to the side. I clambered out of the water, teeth chattering, I felt fear burn in anguish it held on to me much tighter than the grip of roots grasping the earth. It seeped into my thoughts so much I was afraid to even breathe. I went down again into the water and attempted to drag him out. Thankfully I succeeded due to the banks using them to help push. As I looked down at him I saw an eerie stillness about him, he was subdued, and so cold. I pounded on his chest, hitting his heart as hard as I could, waiting in anticipation for a reply, but silence was the only atmosphere here. I pounded again, hitting his head against the earthy carpet. I sat up staring wide-eyed, pleading desperately for him to laugh. I heard a cough and splutter; I tentatively looked down, nervously biting my lip till it bled, raw drops of red. Water spat out of his lungs and a breath replied my pleading.
The next few days I spent alone, hovering in my room, locked away from the outside world. Footsteps were the only noise at night, a light noise of boots treading delicately yet restlessly, up and down. In the morning I would awake to yet another day, the same chirping of the birds outside, the usual smell of roses and the usual shine of daylight trying to break through the curtains. I felt constantly bored, and I couldn’t stop my yearnings. Each day in that house, in that room, hurt me more than my grandmother could ever tell. I wanted to know what was in the forbidden room above; I wanted to know if Greg was still ill. I was determined to see that room, against my grandmother’s threats and warnings, I would ignore them, deafen my ears and get into that room. One day, one night.
I always used to talk to Greg, about what was in that room, we would fantasize about velvet drapes, satin sheets, a castle in that room, a castle that caused my grandmother eyes to go green in greed and envy. We convinced ourselves that she had locked that room away, out of her own selfishness to stop anyone else getting in. Once Greg was well again, we ventured into our dreams, we talked about the room, we talked about my grandmother being the wicked witch of the West. But we never, ever mentioned what was in our thoughts, or the details about that day. Although Greg said he was now well, that the pneumonia had passed, he still looked a pasty white with blackened dark eyes and so fatigued, he was so thin my fingers could fit around his wrists. I knew he couldn’t afford a doctor, I knew his mother must be worried, why else would she have locked him away for weeks in bed. I decided it was best, that I should shun the displeasing thoughts and fears away. I wish I didn’t, I wish I had no regrets and that I could turn back time, I wish I could force him to go back to bed.
In that morning I stood in the dewy grass, I stared back at the house and peered up at the window. I saw raindrops dripping off. I saw a distorted face behind the ripples of water flowing down like waterfalls. I swear I saw blurred teary eyes grudgingly looking back. Inside me my stomach churned, a feeling of despair fuelled me, I felt hot and clammy as if empty eyes will look back. All that morning I felt dull as if the most awful moment of my life was about to repeat itself.
I met Greg to go down to the store and pick up some milk; he seemed to be cold, yet with sweat glistening on his face. It seemed to be an acceptable day; the sun had penetrated through the thick clouds, casting rays of light shimmering on the puddles. We strolled along the cobbles idly, feeling the warmth of the sun rest on our skin, side by side, I felt comfort and a safety I haven’t felt since my mother used to cradle me in her arms. I swore I would never leave him alone again; I would stick by him forever, even if I drove him mad. I gazed at him contemplatively, sensing something was wrong. As he coughed it was chesty, I felt unease rapidly spread through me, my apprehension grew wings and flew of, much higher then I have ever reached. I looked right through his eyes, he just smiled. Again he coughed choking, gasping for air in between, he fumbled in his pocket searching for a tissue, as he held the torn paper to his mouth, his hands shook trembling. He was sweating now, I saw it, and I saw him weaken before my eyes. I held my hand to my mouth; frozen in fear, my legs quavered. I cautiously strained my neck over his shoulder, tears prickled in my eyes, I felt physically sick and dizzy. In his tissue he had coughed up blood, and still he kept on coughing, gasping for air trying to gulp it down, and steady this dire fit. Blood splattered out his mouth, bright red drips like paint, seeping out the corners of his lips. His eyes flickered, panic flashed past them, and then they rolled up inside his head, revealing only white. I shut my eyes tight, trying not to urge, my heart was in my throat, and my pulse was pounding loudly in my head. I heard a thump, it sounded as if a heavy weight had crashed loudly onto the ground. I couldn’t open my eyes, I was past fear now, I felt a pain searing in my heart. Screams and shouts blended in with the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes to open, I held my breath, I stood staring wildly at the world for a while, until my eyes fell onto the ground and focused on a on a limp body, lying deadly silent on the ground.
It was in that moment. My world fell from beneath me. There was no ground strong enough to support me. I lost my balanced and staggered forward, my hands grasping the floor. I struggled to breathe, my eyes burning hot, unwillingly, tears found there own way out, down the tears rolled. I put my hand to his forehead shuddering as I did. He felt as he did once before, but this time he didn’t stir. I struck his head hard against the ground, using all the strength I had, I thumped him in the chest, words escaping from my mouth. I hit and hit, this time there was no reply. My whole body started to shake uncontrollably, my breaths were short puffs, and my head was heavy and aching. I just fell and kept on falling, down and down into the heart of the night. There was nothing to hold on to. Everything was black.
When I came round I remember lying on the floor in my room, I remember being sick then rolling over and falling back to sleep. I didn’t dream of sunshine, I didn’t dream of the dark, I dreamt and kept on dreaming of red. I saw red fall from his lips, I saw it fall from mine, and I saw the river flow of it, of silky red blood that wasn’t mine.
I stayed in my room for weeks, I feared going out. I felt limp and forever tired. The lingering desire, hovered about me, it overpowered all my thoughts. I thought the only way to make the pain leave me, was to erase Greg from my memories. I would go up to the top floor, and I would unlock the truth to our many fantasies and then shut the door forevermore. I stomped up the stairs, perhaps hoping I was stomping on the beasts I feared lived around me. I took no time to look around, as I was nervous I would run back down. I rushed up the second staircase having no time to think. My hand rested on the brass handle, but this time I had no pleasant feeling, I felt hollow and cold, hungry for more emotion, which I could not digest. The doorknob clicked, I thrust the door wide open. I dived inside the room. I was not prepared for what I would see. It was a tomb my grandmother kept visiting, whose I may never know. I thought the room would answer my questions, but instead it gave me more. There was a bed and a chest of draws, it was just like a bedroom, except for the fact it seemed frozen in time. Flowers were placed on the faded satin sheets, a picture of the man I saw in the window, rested at the desk, I assumed he must have been a fighter pilot in the war, due to the uniform and helmet. The whole room seemed lifeless and dead, I believed the house must have died when that man did. In truth it was my grandmother who died when he did. The room was sinister it reminded me of the woods at night. The walls were dry, I could see them crumbling. The air was musty, to me it was ancient, and this was how I believed death smelt. At this time I thought death was following me. I shivered as a breeze brushed past my face; I thought I felt a cold corpselike hand rest upon my shoulder. My hand flicked up in defence, nothing was there. I stared out the window spying on the trees, but in the reflection I saw a face peering back. I left that room, as did my grandmother. I never looked back as I locked the door, and no one has ever looked in.
I went to the graveyard, after leaving the room. I sat next to Greg’s grave, fingering the letters etched onto the stone. I waited there, to here him laugh. I placed a single red rose, the reddest rose you have ever seen, and it glittered underneath the suns light. The world felt surreal, fake, as if trouble was brewing in the haze. The sky was too grey, and the mist felt thick as though I could reach into the sky and feel it between fingers, I could swim through it and dive into the air. I felt so light, like a feather being thrashed around by the wind, ferociously attacking me. I wanted to sleep forever, curl up and remain there till the day I die. Dusk approached me steadily, looming above my head. I decided then that I disliked the person I saw before me, the fearful child whom death followed urgently. It was then I decided the only picture I would let me see of my past, would be the grave, the mist and the dark shadow suspended next to me. Everything else would have never been, and would never happen. Today would be the day I was born; I will run into the mist and change. And I did exactly that.
End
like??? gah didnt really know what to say for it never done a story before....hasnt got a title....ideas anyone??.....just got the gcse grade for it yay!!!!^^
The woods were a vast uncharted land to my eyes, when I was young. They were haunting and sinister, merciless and dark. It was here the shadows dwelled, and my fears would creep out, crawling silently like a black widow spider at night, to spin its silvery icy web, so I would fall into its trap, to taunt me, and fill every waking moment with the solemn dread. The trees soared so high; they would disappear into the cloudless ashen sky. I would walk along the hidden rich muddy path, forged by feet that died a long time ago, while the arch of entwined branches covered me from the droplets of rain, spilled from the odd black cloud hovering above. Early in the morning this place was quite delightful, the harmony of the woods would fill your ears, with the sweet, sweet humming’s enriched with the drumming of rain as it cascaded down the leaves. A smell of freshness and pine enveloped me, and a sense of security banished my fears away, embracing me keeping me safe. But when the curtain would fall at dusk, the woods changed their mind, dusk was the error of passing, when good slept and the darkness stirred and woke. This time was of pure emptiness, no noise, a smell of damp, and arctic breezes rushed passed you, and dark crept in to fill your eyes. Once the night had set in, only the moon could give its light now. The stars were nestled, bounded for eternity in their own cages, sealed by the dark. The only noise was the rustle in the bushes, or the snapping of twigs underneath a heavy weight, the sign of something lurking in the night.
The river was the boundary of the dense labyrinth of trees. It flowed like blue velvet, collapsing over the pebbles, lapping gently against the banks. Underneath the sun it lay lazily. It sounded like the noise of gentle trickling.
The house stood imposingly. I used to have to hurl myself at the heavy oak doors to open them. Inside I feared greatly, a mist of damp, dankness hung heavily in the air. A strong smell of forgotten rations over powered your senses, it might as well be a dungeon as I spent a lot of time locked up in there. The wallpaper was dull and faded, pealing at the edges. The wooden floorboards were scuffed and creaked, when you crept across them. The stairs looked dangerously unsafe and brittle due to woodworm. The portraits sent shivers up my spine; they were of past ancestors looking glum, with stern cold glares. Some were Victorian with high frilly collars creeping up their necks, hair pinned up, and faces frightfully pale. The men wore suits, some with moustaches most with white wispy hair. Their eyes would follow me across the room, I could feel them burning on my back, piercing through my flesh, like knifes. The room where I slept was at the end of an absurdly thin corridor by the front door, so any creature sneaking in would find my room easily. There were two rooms down this corridor, a spare room, full of empty dusty boxes, and forgotten memories that were crammed away in photos and ancient diaries left unfinished. I tried to read them, yet when my grandmother found out this secret pastime, she replied with a repugnant look and a venomous comment, as to how diaries were people’s lives and you don’t go peering in people windows do you? I kept one though, hidden under the mattress, it was a beautiful book, the cover was a deep blue velvet, just like the midnight sky and on the inside cover, was a hand sketched drawing of oriental flowers entwined around the moon. I couldn’t bear to see such a beautiful life and book to lay in a dusty tomb. Then mine which smelt of roses, as there was a bush full of the reddest, sweetest roses your eye could ever see. They bloomed so brilliantly and glittered underneath the sun, which shone like a raging ocean of fire, burning you to ashes. In winter the roses still seemed to shine a luxurious blood red, and when against the pure silvery moonlike snow, they glowed brighter than the day.
I never went up the stairs, they were forbidden to me. All I knew that was up there was my grandmother’s room. From outside I could see a round circular window, above the second floor. There was another floor. I could just make out cobwebs covering it like curtains, and sometimes, I was sure, I could see a ghostly face of a man, peering out, scanning the horizon, and sometimes peering out at me. You could see sadness surround him, a feeling of hollowness that when you saw him you could feel.
In the summer I would spend all my time outside, with my best friend Greg, he had scruffy hair, blonde and wavy, I was sure he never brushed it. He was outgoing and active always climbing trees or up in the farm when I met him. He had a little brother, Matthew, I never talked to him much, he was always inside or playing with the animals. We were the greatest friends, and he was my excuse to never step foot near my grandmother, as every night at six, she would creak up the staircase and I would never see her until six in the morning. I would hear her footsteps upon the stair hearing them creak on the floorboards, then she would step past her bedroom door, and I would swear, I could hear her step up more stairs, as they died away in the distance. With this knowledge I could come home at five past six and get out the door at five to six, and no one would ever be the wiser. But with each week that reluctantly past, my curiosity would grow stronger and stronger, with each footstep echoing above my head. I needed to know what was in that room.
I knew Greg, when I was three, I still knew him when I was six, even when it happened, I still knew him when I was eight, and I still know him now. I guess I thought he had never really left me, as I knew him to well, he was my brother and I loved him as that, more then I ever loved anything. We were climbing trees, harmless, purely harmless. Greg was down by the river trees, swinging of them and falling hard into the water. I couldn’t get my dress wet; my grandmother said if I did I would regret it. I believed her threats and feared them more than fear itself. This is the reason I wanted her to die.
I left him laughing and smiling; when I came back he was blue. He was drifting in the water. Eyes frozen wide open. I never knew what happened, without thinking I clumsily fell into the water, the water hit me with freezing bitter coldness; I tried to claw the water to get towards him. I was numb; my hands were swollen and burning. I kicked frantically gulping the water and choking, I reached over pushing the water away. He was at the end of my fingertips, inches away and I couldn’t get to him. My breaths were short puffs, and as I panicked the water rushed over me, my shoes heavy, pulling me down. It took all my energy trying not to drown. I tried to scream, my shouts came out as whispers. My throat closed up and a lump swelled inside, I was too tired to cry, so it burned and pained me instead. My mouth was dry. It felt like hours of kicking and splashing my arms about, every muscle ached, and the longer I took, the more I thought it was too late. Again I reached out, forcing my fingers to stretch, I gingerly prodded his checked jacket, only to find the water pulled him further away. A pain shot up my leg as the cold was eating it away. An arrow of need hit me, and determination was reinstated, I forced my muscles to move despite the pain, I begged my legs to kick, I pleaded with my brain to let me forget the cold, I glared down at my arms until they moved. Again I clawed at the water using my hands as a shovel, chucking the water away. My hands latched on to him, like a leach I would not let go. Cautiously I turned him over, half afraid of what he may look like. He remained stationary, no noise, no rise and fall of breath. With one hand I grabbed the roots of a river tree, and hearing my joints clicking, I hauled us to the side. I clambered out of the water, teeth chattering, I felt fear burn in anguish it held on to me much tighter than the grip of roots grasping the earth. It seeped into my thoughts so much I was afraid to even breathe. I went down again into the water and attempted to drag him out. Thankfully I succeeded due to the banks using them to help push. As I looked down at him I saw an eerie stillness about him, he was subdued, and so cold. I pounded on his chest, hitting his heart as hard as I could, waiting in anticipation for a reply, but silence was the only atmosphere here. I pounded again, hitting his head against the earthy carpet. I sat up staring wide-eyed, pleading desperately for him to laugh. I heard a cough and splutter; I tentatively looked down, nervously biting my lip till it bled, raw drops of red. Water spat out of his lungs and a breath replied my pleading.
The next few days I spent alone, hovering in my room, locked away from the outside world. Footsteps were the only noise at night, a light noise of boots treading delicately yet restlessly, up and down. In the morning I would awake to yet another day, the same chirping of the birds outside, the usual smell of roses and the usual shine of daylight trying to break through the curtains. I felt constantly bored, and I couldn’t stop my yearnings. Each day in that house, in that room, hurt me more than my grandmother could ever tell. I wanted to know what was in the forbidden room above; I wanted to know if Greg was still ill. I was determined to see that room, against my grandmother’s threats and warnings, I would ignore them, deafen my ears and get into that room. One day, one night.
I always used to talk to Greg, about what was in that room, we would fantasize about velvet drapes, satin sheets, a castle in that room, a castle that caused my grandmother eyes to go green in greed and envy. We convinced ourselves that she had locked that room away, out of her own selfishness to stop anyone else getting in. Once Greg was well again, we ventured into our dreams, we talked about the room, we talked about my grandmother being the wicked witch of the West. But we never, ever mentioned what was in our thoughts, or the details about that day. Although Greg said he was now well, that the pneumonia had passed, he still looked a pasty white with blackened dark eyes and so fatigued, he was so thin my fingers could fit around his wrists. I knew he couldn’t afford a doctor, I knew his mother must be worried, why else would she have locked him away for weeks in bed. I decided it was best, that I should shun the displeasing thoughts and fears away. I wish I didn’t, I wish I had no regrets and that I could turn back time, I wish I could force him to go back to bed.
In that morning I stood in the dewy grass, I stared back at the house and peered up at the window. I saw raindrops dripping off. I saw a distorted face behind the ripples of water flowing down like waterfalls. I swear I saw blurred teary eyes grudgingly looking back. Inside me my stomach churned, a feeling of despair fuelled me, I felt hot and clammy as if empty eyes will look back. All that morning I felt dull as if the most awful moment of my life was about to repeat itself.
I met Greg to go down to the store and pick up some milk; he seemed to be cold, yet with sweat glistening on his face. It seemed to be an acceptable day; the sun had penetrated through the thick clouds, casting rays of light shimmering on the puddles. We strolled along the cobbles idly, feeling the warmth of the sun rest on our skin, side by side, I felt comfort and a safety I haven’t felt since my mother used to cradle me in her arms. I swore I would never leave him alone again; I would stick by him forever, even if I drove him mad. I gazed at him contemplatively, sensing something was wrong. As he coughed it was chesty, I felt unease rapidly spread through me, my apprehension grew wings and flew of, much higher then I have ever reached. I looked right through his eyes, he just smiled. Again he coughed choking, gasping for air in between, he fumbled in his pocket searching for a tissue, as he held the torn paper to his mouth, his hands shook trembling. He was sweating now, I saw it, and I saw him weaken before my eyes. I held my hand to my mouth; frozen in fear, my legs quavered. I cautiously strained my neck over his shoulder, tears prickled in my eyes, I felt physically sick and dizzy. In his tissue he had coughed up blood, and still he kept on coughing, gasping for air trying to gulp it down, and steady this dire fit. Blood splattered out his mouth, bright red drips like paint, seeping out the corners of his lips. His eyes flickered, panic flashed past them, and then they rolled up inside his head, revealing only white. I shut my eyes tight, trying not to urge, my heart was in my throat, and my pulse was pounding loudly in my head. I heard a thump, it sounded as if a heavy weight had crashed loudly onto the ground. I couldn’t open my eyes, I was past fear now, I felt a pain searing in my heart. Screams and shouts blended in with the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes to open, I held my breath, I stood staring wildly at the world for a while, until my eyes fell onto the ground and focused on a on a limp body, lying deadly silent on the ground.
It was in that moment. My world fell from beneath me. There was no ground strong enough to support me. I lost my balanced and staggered forward, my hands grasping the floor. I struggled to breathe, my eyes burning hot, unwillingly, tears found there own way out, down the tears rolled. I put my hand to his forehead shuddering as I did. He felt as he did once before, but this time he didn’t stir. I struck his head hard against the ground, using all the strength I had, I thumped him in the chest, words escaping from my mouth. I hit and hit, this time there was no reply. My whole body started to shake uncontrollably, my breaths were short puffs, and my head was heavy and aching. I just fell and kept on falling, down and down into the heart of the night. There was nothing to hold on to. Everything was black.
When I came round I remember lying on the floor in my room, I remember being sick then rolling over and falling back to sleep. I didn’t dream of sunshine, I didn’t dream of the dark, I dreamt and kept on dreaming of red. I saw red fall from his lips, I saw it fall from mine, and I saw the river flow of it, of silky red blood that wasn’t mine.
I stayed in my room for weeks, I feared going out. I felt limp and forever tired. The lingering desire, hovered about me, it overpowered all my thoughts. I thought the only way to make the pain leave me, was to erase Greg from my memories. I would go up to the top floor, and I would unlock the truth to our many fantasies and then shut the door forevermore. I stomped up the stairs, perhaps hoping I was stomping on the beasts I feared lived around me. I took no time to look around, as I was nervous I would run back down. I rushed up the second staircase having no time to think. My hand rested on the brass handle, but this time I had no pleasant feeling, I felt hollow and cold, hungry for more emotion, which I could not digest. The doorknob clicked, I thrust the door wide open. I dived inside the room. I was not prepared for what I would see. It was a tomb my grandmother kept visiting, whose I may never know. I thought the room would answer my questions, but instead it gave me more. There was a bed and a chest of draws, it was just like a bedroom, except for the fact it seemed frozen in time. Flowers were placed on the faded satin sheets, a picture of the man I saw in the window, rested at the desk, I assumed he must have been a fighter pilot in the war, due to the uniform and helmet. The whole room seemed lifeless and dead, I believed the house must have died when that man did. In truth it was my grandmother who died when he did. The room was sinister it reminded me of the woods at night. The walls were dry, I could see them crumbling. The air was musty, to me it was ancient, and this was how I believed death smelt. At this time I thought death was following me. I shivered as a breeze brushed past my face; I thought I felt a cold corpselike hand rest upon my shoulder. My hand flicked up in defence, nothing was there. I stared out the window spying on the trees, but in the reflection I saw a face peering back. I left that room, as did my grandmother. I never looked back as I locked the door, and no one has ever looked in.
I went to the graveyard, after leaving the room. I sat next to Greg’s grave, fingering the letters etched onto the stone. I waited there, to here him laugh. I placed a single red rose, the reddest rose you have ever seen, and it glittered underneath the suns light. The world felt surreal, fake, as if trouble was brewing in the haze. The sky was too grey, and the mist felt thick as though I could reach into the sky and feel it between fingers, I could swim through it and dive into the air. I felt so light, like a feather being thrashed around by the wind, ferociously attacking me. I wanted to sleep forever, curl up and remain there till the day I die. Dusk approached me steadily, looming above my head. I decided then that I disliked the person I saw before me, the fearful child whom death followed urgently. It was then I decided the only picture I would let me see of my past, would be the grave, the mist and the dark shadow suspended next to me. Everything else would have never been, and would never happen. Today would be the day I was born; I will run into the mist and change. And I did exactly that.
End
like??? gah didnt really know what to say for it never done a story before....hasnt got a title....ideas anyone??.....just got the gcse grade for it yay!!!!^^