Writer's Games: Carnival

Task Three [Female Entries]

EVANGELINE LORE

Bitches all gon die. #icrieverytim

 

ARWEN BLACK

Am I dead?

I sat up slowly, wincing as fiery pain began to shoot up my spine. It took all of my mental capacity to refrain from screaming in pain. My vision swam dizzyingly, and soon enough my eyes began to adjust.

Morgan and Cleo were sitting near the entrance of the helter skelter, talking quietly to one another. Maxine was still asleep, snoring softly next to me. How she managed to get any sleep after seeing the dozens upon dozens of spiders, I had no idea.

“Arwen,” Cleo noticed I was awake and called out to me, gesturing at me to join her and Morgan. Somehow, I managed to stumble to my feet and walk over to them. My whole body ached in pain, and my joints burned as if engulfed in flames. It felt like being stabbed with thousands of pins over and over and over again.

I sat down next to Morgan, my feet tucked under my thighs. My fingers tapped the ground impatiently as the three of us exchanged an awkward silence.

“Any plans for today?” Cleo spoke quietly, very unlike her outgoing personality. She was playing with a piece of her hair, twirling it around her fingers almost unconsciously.

“I guess we just try and survive another day.” I mumbled. This whole thing was still terrifying me, but surviving the first night gave me a bit of comfort. Eight people had died the night before, and it still shook me to my core. I’d seen death before, but not like this. Not innocent kids and hardworking adults.

Morgan didn’t speak for a few moments, his gaze almost wistful as he stared out at the rising sun. He pulled out the small notebook he constantly carried with him, god knows how he hadn’t lost it yet, and after staring out at the carnival for a few more moments, began to write. I shuffled closer to him and peered over his shoulder.

Darkness is our only friend,

It twists and bends to no end.

Frightened voices scream at night,

Never to see the morning light.

Twists, horror, fear, gore,

This carnival has it all.

Broken souls filled with dread,

Fighting, trying, until we wind up-

 

Dead. Until we wind up dead.

I cursed my conscious for being so morbid, but judging from what was written, it was a reasonable assumption. I looked up at Morgan uncertainly. His eyebrows were creased into a frown as he stared down at the paper.

“Aren’t you going to finish it?” I asked uncertainly. Morgan rarely left a poem unfinished, he was always restless until he found the perfect ending.

“It’s very morbid.” Cleo commented carefully. She was looking at the poem as well. Her eyes flitted up to Morgan.

“I’ll finish it.” Morgan said slowly, almost in monotone. He moved the pen to the paper, hesitating for a moment. He stared at the paper for a few more minutes. Then, after a moment, he filled in the last word. Dead. Although it was just a word written onto paper, it seemed to have a bigger effect on us than we were willing to admit.