The drink was cold in my hands. Ice-cold, below freezing. Blood red. Forest green. Ocean blue. Shadow black. I couldn't tell the color.
Eyes stared down at me, menacing and merciless. Dark hoods covered their faces, shielding their identities from view. They sat in chairs around me, forming a circle around the skinny, bruised, chained-to-the-floor child, holding a polished chalice in her trembling hands. The liquid splashed around in the cup, dripping over the sides and stinging my fingers. I couldn't calm my shaking.
No one had ever come back from this. I remember watching student after student, child after child, adult after adult, disappear through those wretched doors, never coming back. The doors that gobbled innocent souls and never spit them back out.
Now it was my turn. My turn to drink from this cursed chalice. The shackles rattled on my wrist, clattering against the floor. My wrists became red, black, and blue, and blood slid down my arm. It felt like an ocean eel, slithering across my skin.
The only sound was their heavy breathing, waiting for me to lift the drink to my chapped lips. Tears pricked at the back of my eyelids, threatening to spill. Light from the candles set around me in a circle made my skin glow. They also made me feel exposed. Vulnerable. In danger.
Minutes passed, though it felt much longer. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. They continued to watch me, unmoving, their gazes taking in every detail of the broken form on the blood-covered ground. I couldn't cough. I couldn't sob. I couldn't scream or shriek or pound on the walls. I was trapped. I was now one of those innocent souls. I was never going to leave.
I lowered my gaze to the chalice, the blood-streaked chalice. My blood. Their chalice. My blood was red, like the petals of a rose. My gaze grew blurry. I couldn't see anything but that cursed chalice.
Their eyes remained glued to me as I lifted the cup. Brought the edge to my trembling lips. A small tear rolled down my cheek, one of many. It left a skinny trail down my skin. I tipped my head back, the chains on my wrists clacking against each other, reminding me of skeleton bones.
And I took a sip.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories/Story Ideas
Short StoryA few short stories that I came up with on a whim. If one gives you an idea for your own story, ask me first before using it. WARNING: Many might be dark and depressing.
