Irritation
Free choice English narrative.
Genre: Angst
Warnings: A psychopath
Word Count: 543
Everything irritated him.
The slightest, insignificant movement would send his blood racing. That’s what got him in here in the first place.
Patrick Morgan hated his life. Ever since his mother and father perished in a fire, he had never felt more alone. So from then until now, he had grown stronger, and anger grew throughout his body, taking over him day by day. It had all poured out when he lost his job. On occasion he sometimes contemplated how that triggered him system, but he always stopped himself when he realised the thought only angered him more.
He could feel the heat rising again when heard those cheap, loud high heels walking down the hall. His cell door opened and a woman wearing a white dress and cheap looking lipstick stepped in.
“Mr Morgan, dinner is ready,” she spoke with that sympathetic smile on her face.
That was it. He snapped.
He didn’t care that he screamed. He didn’t care that he pushed past the woman with more force than necessary. He didn’t care that he was drawing attention to himself, alerting all the guards in the process of his unplanned escape.
All he wanted was to be free.
His anger was growing again. More and more each time someone tried to hold him back. So now he was shouting; swearing, cursing, doing anything he could to get out of this place he knew too be hell. It had been so long, finding an exit wasn’t easy. He’d almost forgotten what floor he was on. Not anymore.
He was two stories up and falling. When did he get outside? Was this it? Was this his punishment for escaping his misery? The ground was getting closer, but ever so slowly.
And that was it. He landed, but with the force of braking his arm and possibly spraining his leg in the process. But he didn’t care. He was out. Free. And now he was running. Well, trying to run, but his energy was fading with every step he took. Not to mention his eyes had given up sight and were as blurry as when water trickled down glass windows. He didn’t know which way was the best route out of there, but anything was a bright light at that moment. He could hear shouting and screaming from behind him, someone was even calling an ambulance.
This made him run as fast as his broken legs could carry him.
He could now see some blurry lights in the distance. He didn’t know if they were good or bad lights. He took that chance. As he got closer, he could make out people; people running all over the place. Then it hit him. He knew what this place was. It was a carnival.
The police -that he knew were probably also looking for him now- couldn’t possibly find him in this maze. So he dragged his half dead body into the nearest tent available. Luckily for him it was just a crops tent. Maybe this was his calling: travelling around with freaks and clowns and animals. Is this where he belonged? Then he saw some spare knifes lying on top of a suitcase.
And he knew then.
Yes, he was going to fit right in.
Genre: Angst
Warnings: A psychopath
Word Count: 543
Everything irritated him.
The slightest, insignificant movement would send his blood racing. That’s what got him in here in the first place.
Patrick Morgan hated his life. Ever since his mother and father perished in a fire, he had never felt more alone. So from then until now, he had grown stronger, and anger grew throughout his body, taking over him day by day. It had all poured out when he lost his job. On occasion he sometimes contemplated how that triggered him system, but he always stopped himself when he realised the thought only angered him more.
He could feel the heat rising again when heard those cheap, loud high heels walking down the hall. His cell door opened and a woman wearing a white dress and cheap looking lipstick stepped in.
“Mr Morgan, dinner is ready,” she spoke with that sympathetic smile on her face.
That was it. He snapped.
He didn’t care that he screamed. He didn’t care that he pushed past the woman with more force than necessary. He didn’t care that he was drawing attention to himself, alerting all the guards in the process of his unplanned escape.
All he wanted was to be free.
His anger was growing again. More and more each time someone tried to hold him back. So now he was shouting; swearing, cursing, doing anything he could to get out of this place he knew too be hell. It had been so long, finding an exit wasn’t easy. He’d almost forgotten what floor he was on. Not anymore.
He was two stories up and falling. When did he get outside? Was this it? Was this his punishment for escaping his misery? The ground was getting closer, but ever so slowly.
And that was it. He landed, but with the force of braking his arm and possibly spraining his leg in the process. But he didn’t care. He was out. Free. And now he was running. Well, trying to run, but his energy was fading with every step he took. Not to mention his eyes had given up sight and were as blurry as when water trickled down glass windows. He didn’t know which way was the best route out of there, but anything was a bright light at that moment. He could hear shouting and screaming from behind him, someone was even calling an ambulance.
This made him run as fast as his broken legs could carry him.
He could now see some blurry lights in the distance. He didn’t know if they were good or bad lights. He took that chance. As he got closer, he could make out people; people running all over the place. Then it hit him. He knew what this place was. It was a carnival.
The police -that he knew were probably also looking for him now- couldn’t possibly find him in this maze. So he dragged his half dead body into the nearest tent available. Luckily for him it was just a crops tent. Maybe this was his calling: travelling around with freaks and clowns and animals. Is this where he belonged? Then he saw some spare knifes lying on top of a suitcase.
And he knew then.
Yes, he was going to fit right in.