Fear
This is the second story I wrote for class. The theme was to write a story following the conventions of the horror or ghost genre. As I have never really written either, I decided to focus more on the presentation to help to strengthen the piece. Originally each line was shorter than the previous from start to finish, but the computers at uni (and apparently LiveJournal) don't like me, so it is the way it is.
I wrote it in such a way to create an element of fear and a countdown to death. The words are also fragmented which quickens the pace whilst adding a poetic feel.
The stairs creak and the room itself sighs. I’m shaking; not only with fear but also with the
chill. My breath leaves a mist which lingers in the air, already damp and putrid with death.
The beating of my heart is almost insufferable as it pounds violently against my ribs,
warning all others of my unwanted presence. I want to leave but intrigue prevents
me from doing so. Not far now, I repeatedly tell myself, just a short while longer.
The stench of blood is ripening thick in the air, it confuses my senses and
threatens my stomach. As I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I immediat
ely skirt along the outer of the room, keeping close to the wall and far
from danger. The smell is stronger from here and my stomach retc
hes with its abuse. I hear a slow murmuring, a sigh or plea for he
lp which shocks me to my core. Although I know what I must find,
proof of its very being terrifies me. The reality of the situation
catches me mid breath and I double over with sudden illn
ess. The eerie green light entrapping me thins and my
surroundings become clear. Blood, red on the walls.
Blood, red on the floor. Blood, red tainting my skin
as it falls from above. I refuse to look up and clas
p my eyes shut. This is not the time to be faced
with reality. I wish to turn back but it is now too
late. My soul is troubled with the misfortune
of my ancestors. Tormented and hung for
being who they are. Do I really want to fa
ce the lies I have told others? Will it hu
rt? How will my life end? Will the kni
fe rip my bare throat open the way it
always does? I edge closer.
The smell is stronger.
The blood more vivid.
I hear cries of help.
Panic begins to settle.
Shadows dance on the walls,
one in particular dashes towards me in a fearless manner I easily
recognise.
Death is coming.
Death is here.
The knife slashes my face, stabbing at my heart.
Pain rips through my body and I finally understand the pain I have inflicted upon others.
Death is coming; I feel it’s breath. Blood flows down
my torso and as my soul seeps from it’s former
shell running desperately towards a Hell I no
w understand. Death is here; my sense of
feeling is being lost. It is time to join my
ancestors in soul and in remorse.
Death is now; It has taken me.
Ghosts of shadows surrou
nd me. They mock my pa
in and scorn me. I am
dead. And I no
longer feel
or fear
death.
I wrote it in such a way to create an element of fear and a countdown to death. The words are also fragmented which quickens the pace whilst adding a poetic feel.
The stairs creak and the room itself sighs. I’m shaking; not only with fear but also with the
chill. My breath leaves a mist which lingers in the air, already damp and putrid with death.
The beating of my heart is almost insufferable as it pounds violently against my ribs,
warning all others of my unwanted presence. I want to leave but intrigue prevents
me from doing so. Not far now, I repeatedly tell myself, just a short while longer.
The stench of blood is ripening thick in the air, it confuses my senses and
threatens my stomach. As I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I immediat
ely skirt along the outer of the room, keeping close to the wall and far
from danger. The smell is stronger from here and my stomach retc
hes with its abuse. I hear a slow murmuring, a sigh or plea for he
lp which shocks me to my core. Although I know what I must find,
proof of its very being terrifies me. The reality of the situation
catches me mid breath and I double over with sudden illn
ess. The eerie green light entrapping me thins and my
surroundings become clear. Blood, red on the walls.
Blood, red on the floor. Blood, red tainting my skin
as it falls from above. I refuse to look up and clas
p my eyes shut. This is not the time to be faced
with reality. I wish to turn back but it is now too
late. My soul is troubled with the misfortune
of my ancestors. Tormented and hung for
being who they are. Do I really want to fa
ce the lies I have told others? Will it hu
rt? How will my life end? Will the kni
fe rip my bare throat open the way it
always does? I edge closer.
The smell is stronger.
The blood more vivid.
I hear cries of help.
Panic begins to settle.
Shadows dance on the walls,
one in particular dashes towards me in a fearless manner I easily
recognise.
Death is coming.
Death is here.
The knife slashes my face, stabbing at my heart.
Pain rips through my body and I finally understand the pain I have inflicted upon others.
Death is coming; I feel it’s breath. Blood flows down
my torso and as my soul seeps from it’s former
shell running desperately towards a Hell I no
w understand. Death is here; my sense of
feeling is being lost. It is time to join my
ancestors in soul and in remorse.
Death is now; It has taken me.
Ghosts of shadows surrou
nd me. They mock my pa
in and scorn me. I am
dead. And I no
longer feel
or fear
death.