short story #8
i open my eyes and look groggily around the room. it is a pristine white room, with nothing but a pen and a single sheet of paper.
it is silent.
very silent.
i scream, trying to fill the crushing silence with something.
anything.
i can feel the silence eating away at me, the ringing that comes with silence screaming in my ears, drilling holes into my brain.
i claw my way towards the pen and paper.
i click the pen open and start writing aimlessly on the paper, basking in the scratching sound that is produced.
i do not want to think of the time when the sound ends.
soon, the paper is filled up completely with blue ink and the silence presses in once again, threatening to crush my soul.
noo! i need sound!
i look around desperately for another sheet of paper, but there is none. i look at the white walls and an idea comes to mind. i start writing on the walls, and the scratching sound is produced again.
pleasepleaseplease
after i have filled up one side of the room with my aimless scribbles, i move on to the other side and stop.
the pen.
it's run out of ink.
no
no
NO!
i run the pen down the wall but it does not work, the pen has truly run out of ink; it will never write again.
i use the sharp tip of the pen to pierce my skin, a steady stream of blood flows out.
grinning insanely, i pour some blood into the ink canister and my blood acts as ink, flowing out of the tip in gross, scarlet red.
it soon runs out and i look at the wall, half drenched in my blood and i keep refilling the pen.
scratchscratchscratch
the pen runs up and down the walls, leaving trails of my blood behind and intoxicated in delight, i do not feel the wooziness, do not see my pale skin, the veins standing out more obviously than before...
only when i have finished all the walls then the reality sinks in.
i slump to the ground, skin a pure white, hands clawing the ground desperately.
i do not move again.
author's note
for those who do not understand this, it is basically about someone who is locked in a soundproof room and is slowly going insane. so she decides to write, to create sound, but after a short while the paper is filled with her scribbles so she moves on to the walls.
the pen runs out of ink and she uses her blood to write, soon after, she dies of blood loss.
YOU ARE READING
short stories
Short Storythis was actually meant for one-shots on people dying and i guess it's turned into a place where i write everything that doesn't qualify for my three main books. (this book is sad, give it a candy) but it's important tho! i do story swaps and stuff...
