This is a collection of short stories, featuring crystals, crows, soccer fields, bloody skies, and more. Most stories will be based off prompts from writing contests across Wattpad, and some may be based off the splinters of my soul and the waltzing...
Leo dashed through the woods, leaping over the thin winding creaks, his ankles aching as he tried not to slip over the wet rocks. With his heart in his throat, he zipped through the rotting oak trees, not giving a damn about the blasted leaves that crunched beneath his feet or the branches that snapped with his every step.
His mother had warned him every day. Every bloody day.
And he still hadn't listened.
Once the sky turns red, you must leave the forest – that's when the beasts come out.
Leo glanced up and felt his stomach churn.
The sky was red. Blood red. It seemed to ooze liquid crimson from the dark stars, and the clouds themselves looked more like red streaks that were crawling closer and closer to the ground-
For a second, Leo could only see red. He couldn't see the raw pink scratches along his arms, nor could he see the muddy brook that was swollen from the rain. Everything – the thin layer of pine needles, the rocks beneath his feet, the twisting creeks – was a dark, bleeding red.
Leo wasn't sure that the birds had stopped singing above him. He wasn't even sure that his heart was still beating. If it was, he couldn't hear it; all he could hear was his mother's voice chanting the same words over and over in his head.
Once the sky turns red, you must leave the forest – that's when the beasts come out. Beasts without hearts, beasts that can only see red...
Any second now, he knew, the beasts would arrive. They would arrive and chew the flesh from his bones, crunch on his fingers and toes, rip out his hair-
Through the final overhanging branches, Leo could see the village. He could see the carts full of apples and oranges, he could see the butcher with his bloody lumps of meat hanging across his stall, he could see the women fanning their faces with little pieces of cloth-
He was so close.
And once he was no longer in the forest, he would be home. Safe.
Hot air assailed his face as he clawed through the final branches and ran into the village. He still couldn't feel his heart, nor could he hear his own breaths.
But he was home. Safe. The beasts hadn't caught him.
That's when he heard the scream. It tore through him like a great shard of glass – all raw and hysterical and garbled. A scream of despair. A scream of fear.
And it was coming from all the villagers – the merchants, the women, the children. They were all crying out as they scrambled back, their faces bright red, their eyes wide, tears streaming down their cheeks-
Leo turned to look over his shoulder, but he couldn't see a thing. There was no beast, no shadow, not even the slightest of roars. Not even-
Pain ripped through Leo's body. It curled over his every bone, his every muscle, and the agony was enough to send him sinking into the sand. He cried and shrieked, begging for the sharp and hissing pain to stop, pleading for mercy-
When his mouth opened, though, no words came out.
All that came out was a single, strangled roar.
And as he looked over his hands, his fingers, his legs, he realised that they were no longer made of skin on bones.
There was fur – all sharp and dark and wiry. His nails had turned into claws, each one as sharp as a dagger. Each one as red as blood.
When he glanced up, he realised that he couldn't tell the difference between the apples and oranges. They were both lumps of red, falling from carts and onto the sand as the merchants tried to hide behind them. Hell, he couldn't even tell the difference between the villagers and the hanging lines of raw chicken – they all looked like juicy slices of red meat.
Leo felt his stomach growl with hunger, felt his teeth stretch and grow into fangs.
Red, red, red.
The sands were red, the wooden huts were red, the meat was red, the sky was red-
Once the sky turns red, you must leave the forest – that's when the beasts come out. Beasts without hearts, beasts that can only see red, beasts that are hungry enough to eat a whole village.
And, with one last glance at the clouds that were streaked red, the beast lunged.
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Word Count: 737
Prompt: This was an interesting prompt. Rather than a sentence or an idea, the prompt was actually the image attached to the chapter.
This story was written for The Coffee & Cakes Awards 2019, by Jumping_Jiminys - and the awesome photo was also found by them.
