Wind howling, trees bending into monsters, lights flickering out and a small child wrapped in a dull grey blanket. The darkness made monsters out of the most simplistic items, the things he once adored. He could still see it, glowing red eyes and mattered, stringy black hair. He feared it, he remembers the smell of rotting flesh it gave off, the metallic taste of blood that had filled his mouth.
It never went away, no matter how hard he had tried. It would never go away; it was stuck inside his mind. His fragile and naïve mind, now broken and shattered. His innocence stolen and broken into peices that no one could ever fix. He couldn't cry, he had used all his tears. He couldn't shout for he had shouted too much. His throat burned and eyes stung as he tried to give himself the comfort he needed.
The wooden walls creaked and groaned from the pain and pressure of the wind that ripped through, that destroyed everything in its path. Trees snapped and lights burst as the child closed his eyes, bright red eyes greeted him back.
YOU ARE READING
Random Pieces of Writing.
KurzgeschichtenShort Stories, starts and everything to do with fictional stories that I've written but will probably never use jammed into one book.
