"Ring around the rosie."
Pockets full of posie.
Ashes, ashes.
We all fall down."
There are six children, standing near the edge of a steep cliff that leads into nothingness. Five of the children are positioned in an enclosed oval around the sixth; a little girl with long blonde hair plaited into pigtails. She's lying on a bed of plucked flowers, clothed in a sheet of white cotton. Her face is calm, serene. Her eyes are closed.
The other five are swaying slightly around her, humming an eerie tune under their breaths. Their eyes are blank, expressionless; no emotion displayed on their miniscule faces. One of them steps forward and pushes a thick wreath of twigs onto the girls head, brushing her soft curls off her forehead.
"Ring around the rosie..."
They mutter softly, just barely above a whisper. The girl does not wake. She is lying so still it hardly seems she is breathing.
"...pockets full of posie..."
One of the children standing moves forward with one jerky stride. She stoops slowly and scoops a handful of white gaping lilies from the bed of the girl. She straightens and tucks the petals into the sleeping girl's breast pocket, gently so as not to distrub her,
"...ashes, ashes..."
The girl with the flowers steps back, and suddenly a seventh child joins them. He is different from the other children, however. He is wearing all black clothing down to the socks on his shoes, and there is a fierce light burning in his eye. Maybe that's just the flame flickering on the torch in his fist. His raven-black hair glints in the light, brown eyes focused. He starts forward, bearing the torch high above his head. The orange-yellow light dances across the girl's face, making shadows under her eyes. In this light, she looks no older than eight.
The boy moves forward until he is at the edge of her bed. Instead of the harsh light on his face, there is now a hard glint. He grinds his teeth audibly and lowers the torch, hovering inches above her chest. He hesitates, then sets the flame calmly down, staring blankly ahead into the dark. He is no longer different from the rest of them. He is the same.
The fire licks and wraps around the girl's throat, but still she does not stir. The smell of burning hair wafts into the air as her soft locks turn brittle and crumble while they go up in flames.
"...we all fall down."
All six children move forward, place their hands on the edge of her bed, and give a heavy shove. Both the girl and the bed are pushed off the side of the cliff, burning their way through the night as they tumble down the thick chasm and hit the water. No sound is heard but a faint murmuring from the six remaining children, now linked hand in hand as the girl falls. No words are said. Only humming.
The wreath, the lilies, and the ashes are no more.
The girl is no more.
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So, whaddya think? Creepy enough? Should I continue?
I know you're out there, my silent readers!
If you have any critism whatsoever, please let me know!!! I'd really appreciate it :)
-Abbie
