Blanks and broken hearts

The Lower I Sink

Sharp. As my boat was impaled upon the jagged rocks, my eyes flitted up to the slim and dimly illuminated window high above me. Sunk into the exterior wall of the castle as a foot sinks into wet sand. Waves crashed into my boat and crested over my back, pricking my skin with a thousand fiery ice-cold drops. Gingerly, I let my body succumb to the ice and slowly twisted into the water. The pain ricocheted around my body, building to a wailing crescendo, as I prayed for my legs not to freeze to a state of imobility. Nausea was rising up my trachea. My heart beat faster, always faster, tattooing a drum beat into my chest, until I was more than certain it would burst straight through. I needed to escape this frozen prison, before it became my grave as well. Finally, I reached the stone bridge that arced over the water. Though it was cold, it felt warm to my numb fingers. I could feel the water pulsing around my legs, as if it had sensed my imminent escape, it trapped me; sucking me and my steadily unfurling fingers far, far, away from safety...

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Darkness. All around me, covering everything with a deep blue-black. Save for a single silver shaft of moonlight that came shooting through my curtains, slicing along my blanket-covered body. I dropped my feet towards the floor, feeling the frigid air pool around my still warm ankles. Padded over to the window. Curtains open, pull it to, shut the latch. I turned back around, ready to aim a flying leap at my bed (my feet felt like two lumps of ice) but instead my eyes were drawn by a glimmer of light from my dresser. My sleep-addled brain registered that I had failed to properly close the curtains on my little excursion. Tentatively, I walked towards the thing that had reflected the moon's light back at me. My elegant picture frame had been moved from where it had once stood, and now, in its place, I found a tiny silver key.

Confused, I spun it in my hands. The church bells rang 11'o'clock, bright and clear across the valley.

I wrenched open the door to the bitter cold that I might exercise some warmth into my flaccid limbs; I might escape the freshly torn horrors that threatened to engulf me.

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Slowly, my eyes unstick. The world flashes. I can't make sense of the green streaks above me. Then I feel the blood, pushing the boundaries of my sanity. And my consciousness. Warm, trickling down my forehead to the hard earth beneath me. My memories elude me. I see a man, wielding a knife. Then he's gone. I'm flying through trees.  They vanish. My world is shrinking, spinning. I realise I'm dying. Someone's clasping my hand. They plead with Death.

"Don't leave, please..."

Blackness smothers them. A sick stench of iron fills the air. My throat clenches. The world is gone.

-100 word story-

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I am going to die.

Ensnared in a cage of branches. I'm not afraid of Death. Surely he wouldn't hurt a young girl, not the first time she died. I won't lie and say I laugh in the face of Death like some dense people do. It'll be peaceful, here. Only me.

There is the unspeakable option of killing a forest to save myself. But what would that make me?

Stay positive. There is always a glint, just a tiny glimmer, of hope. Or light...

Light is bursting through a hole, torn in the hedge; perhaps I can crawl through?

No one here but me. Beyond the hedge is an ugly, barren war field. Not even the most evil of creatures could survive here. Arid, touched only by Death's cold fingers.

Yet there are trees all around, lush, glowing with life. Who could've created this wasteland in the middle of such a paradise?

Wait.
Wasn't this the forest which a minute ago seemed so dull and grey?
Murderous, even?
Ready to murder me?

Thoughts whirl round my head, an untouchable vortex.
Check again. Still writhing with thorn-clad creepers. Still, I will die. Nothing can prevent that.

I will die.
Ensnared in a cage of branches.

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Hey. Random shit excerpts that I have written in various English lessons.

The first two are from the term we spent on gothicism, the third was a world book day activity, and the fourth is my final soliloquy from the term we spent on those (I've changed them all around a bit, though).

Peace - Cranberry