Horror in a Flash - a collection of prompt based live-writting

Prompt: All are demons

Ever wonder if a horror story can be created out of the prompt "The Fillpino revolt against Espana and how the US used that to gain a strategic foothold in the south China sea?"

This is a collection of flash fiction written on the fly. I asked for prompts and then wrote each piece right then, taking between 15 minutes to an hour. Some came out okay and some not so much.

Prompt:

All are demons

The man walked down the street, holding the hand of a small child. The child look up at him with innocent eyes, her messy brown hair hanging over her face like tiny ribbons. She wore a pale blue dress and shiny black shoes, with a small silver bracelet dangling from her wrist and catching the afternoon sun.

The man had on a suit, a drab chocolate color, the kind a person would pull out of the back of a closet to wear to a funeral. His black hair was slicked back, with something wet and a little sticky, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Do you trust me?” the man said, his voice deep with a hint of gravel in the back of his throat.

“Yes Daddy,” the little girl said. She skipped a little as she walked, while the man stepped stiffly, as if he was in a funeral procession.

“That’s good,” the man said, smiling a little as he continued to walk, soon followed by several other people, each holding the hand of a child. Each person wore the same dull colored clothing, a mix of suits and dresses, all dull mud brown.

They reached a stage, set up in the middle of town, filled with brown balloons and brown streamers. The man lead the girl up to the stage with the others and lifted her up into his arms.

“Trust is such a wondrous thing,” he said softly. “When it shatters, the shards cut deep, bringing such sweet pain.”

The girl looked up at him, her eyes squinted in innocent confusion. The man turned her around to face him.

“I’m not your father,” he said, as the skin on his face and hands started to stain, a deep gunmetal gray that spread like ink. The color of his suit grew richer, turning the brownish red of blood, until it started dripping off the cloth in streams. His slicked back hair was no slicked back with blood, that dripped down onto his face and neck.

The girl screamed, which made the man’s smile turn into a grin. He held her so she could see the stage, which was now a covered in clear, blood filled balloons with streamers crafted out of bits of flesh. The girl’s screams joined those of the other children and the men and women holding them started to sway as if to music.

“All are demons here,” the man said, continuing to sway back and forth. “Your parents are gone, we’re what remains. Your screams are our songs, your pain is our dance.”

He turned her to face him again and pulled her to his face. The girl sobbed and spoke, splintered words that came out in gasps. The man took one hand and removed his glasses, revealing two glowing eyes, filled with nothing but smoldering green fire.

He stared at her, letting the fire from his eyes reach out, burrowing into her eyes and scooping out the innocence, tearing at her mind until it tore free and stood in front of her now limp body, a glowing ball of luminescent gold.

The man dropped the girl and grabbed the glowing ball, opening his mouth and stuffing it inside, making greedy tearing, sucking sounds, like someone eating an overly ripe peach. He swallowed the last of the gold and wiped his mouth, looking around as the others did the same.

“Children’s souls are the sweetest fruit there is,” he said, licking his lips to get the last bits of flavor.

The end.