𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥

Past the Flag

My mother once told me to never walk past the red flag stabbed in the middle of the forest dirt.

Rumours, silly silly unbelievable rumours. "It's evil past that mark! More evil than the devil himself." Mother cried clinging.

Days later my steps have passed the flag, my body glided further and deeper into the slimy leaves. Body stiff, I lock eyes on a dirty, dank, disgusting, dried up broken shed.

Wind breezes and leaves shiver, the spooky mist was one to fear. Step after step, crunch after crunch, the rusty door is front to front. Breaking way through the broken frame, spiders and webs dancing along the frame.

Hidden in plain sight the shadow waves across the room striking in plain devotion. One moment I stand, the next I crumble.

Pain ricochets from my skull down to the tiniest tippiest toe. Crimson leaks and spills. Broken skull, broken life.

Satanist sinister smirk greets my broken bleak vision. Life slipping second by second, blood dripping inches by inches.

Killer grinning, teeth clanging, grip slipping.

Soul slipping.

While my eyes shut and body fades, I remember what i've said. "What will happen now? Me dead." I taunted and teased.

Now with the blood dried, body limp, breath stolen, and soul gone. I take back everything i've said.