Power of the Pen: Prompts & Short Stories 2013-2015

It's Coming

7th Grade
It's Coming

By michmeoww

Prompt: You've got to get rid of it. But how?

Time Given: 40 minutes

I've got to get that thing out. Out. Out of where I was, right now.

But how?

My life was at stake, and my heart is pumping as I run down the stairs with moneybags in hand. It could hear my right now, I could feel it. But it was cruel enough to play with me longer. It wanted me to run. It wanted me to be as terrified as I was right now.

Why did I decide to come here in the first place?

I pause and stop running, sweat framing my face, and glance at the walls of cemented stone bricks. The window beside me let in the dark and mysterious rays of moonlight. I could break it and jump out, but it would just go back to normal again. Back to the way it was, a shabby windowpane with cobwebs of spiders silk strung among the sides. I've tried that already. I've tried everything. I should just give up now.

Why did they choose me to come to this place, at a full moon, to steal the precious money that lay beneath it?

How did they convince me to come here?

How did they convince me to steal?

But most importantly, why did they choose me, a normal tenth-grader, to accomplish this?

Then I heard it. Whatever it was. The crystal chandelier started to shake. The floor beneath my feet, the walls behind my bare hands. Everything. It was coming. I had to run.

Face as pale as the glowing moon, I started to escape from it again. The rotted wooden floorboards creaked and moaned as I ran faster. I was giving it signals, telling it where I was. I had to stop. I had to find an exit, somewhere, someplace.

But this place was a maze. I couldn't possibly find a way out. I've been in this castle for such a long time, it would be a miracle if anything good happens to me. I might as well say right now that I, Claire Gettingsburg, will die.

It's my fault. I never should've trusted those men that promised fame and fortune to me. They knew that I would die. It brought tears to my eyes to see, right now, before I die, how foolish and dumb I was. Salty, bitter tears of regret started to fall down my face and onto the floor.

Finally, a floorboard below me gave out and my foot tumbled into the floor. It was stuck. A rotten wood splinter dug into my heel. Pain. Pain was all that I needed. I wanted to die in pain, in regret, in sadness of what I did. I did not want to die in fear. Fear is what made people weak, what made people die. I can't die like that.

I sat there, in pain, weak and tasting my own salty, dreadful tears. It was what I deserved. After what I did. I thew the moneybags in the air, the crisp bills falling into my face. I'll let it get me. It can have me, it can destroy me. I must be brave.

I opened my eyes that were so afraid. I had to be brave. People who fear are weak. The ones who do not fear it are ones who deserve to die in honor. I won't be afraid of it.

Suddenly, a door magically appeared in front of my face, my dark hair turned into a billowing wave, dancing in the glory of the escape.

My foot was free. The splinter disappeared. It was all magic. Everything. I cannot believe it. Magic. I was no longer in pain. I was in Heaven.

Cheeks stained in tears, clothes bathed in dirt and dust, I stood up and ran towards the exit.

The End