"its cold."
"what?"
"its cold" she repeated, gripping the arms of the chair she sat on.
"its not cold, i feel fine" he said, "what's wrong with you?"
lifting his head up from the small book he was so concentrated on, only to be
startled at the look on her face, she seemed to be very afraid of something
her eyes not even on him.
"what's wrong?" he asked "don't try anything funny"
her eyes fixed on the window behind him. she began to pull at the hand cuffs around
her wrists.
"what the hell are you looking at!?" he said as he began to turn around.
before his eyes had even a chance of identifying what had been in the
window, when it was just a dark object in the corner of his eye, he had felt it.
the fear of death creeping on your shoulder, the final moment when you know
there isn't an escape.
but he was not a passive man, never satisfied to let life take its course
even when the beast had crashed through the window, snatching him off his feet
and throwing him across the room like a rag doll before he could grab the weapon
in his jacket, he didn't give up, now finding himself an opportunity, ignoring the pain
he pulled out his gun, aiming at the beast only to see it now in full view.
his fingers going limp around the gun, eyes wide ... it must've stood at least 7 or 8 feet tall, entire frame close to that of a mans, completely black, dark as the subconscious of a serial killers mind where the worst nightmares
exist. thorns coming from his shoulders seemed to be twitching, like black flames
dancing in an even blacker night. on his head 2 great horns, with the luster of obsidian
glass. he glances past the beast for a moment, the girl sat slumped in her chair,
head hanging, fainted. at that moment he realized he shouldn't have taken his eyes
off the beast. because he was now on his left side, less than a foot from his face
staring into the eyes of its victim. he smelled his breath, he tried to lift his arm with
the gun, it had fallen. but he couldn't feel it anymore. he must've broken something in the
fall because he couldn't turn his head either. somewhere in the corner of his mind amidst
the panic and fear he was thankful. the grim hopelessness of the situation covered his
whole body like a blanket, he couldn't let go of life if he wanted to. through the corner
of his eye he could only make out the mouth of the beast. a sick grin like nothing he'd
ever imagined, bearing teeth he could never describe.
READER'S REVIEWS (3) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"A "lil something" you cooked up, eh? Maybe a lil something you cooked up while on the crapper! It's thrown together and old. I'd personally flush this one, man, but I could somehwere in there sense potential. Next time, use your head while your not using your ass ;-)" -- daryl.
"I see what the problem is here, and it isn't that it's all bad. Problem is it's not a story. A story must have not only a theme but a plot, yours misses the plot. It seems as if someone's taken a book, torn out a single page, and chose to display it. My advice would be to show us the rest of the pages you didn't allow us to see." -- EC Allen.
"This is incomplete. An idea for a story that was started, but not finished. Keep trying." -- Kathy.
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