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Just an urge... {STORY/Nonsense} |
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So, I write stories in my journal, some I'm not proud, some I want to change but forget to. Well lately I've been having repetitive dreams, just the same thing. Over and over, so I began to write them in my real-life journal. It took me a while to realize I was writing a story, so now in my journal I wish to rewrite them, I hope you, whoever you are, enjoy them.
Thud, thud. My boots hit the packed dirt hard. I could feel the burning sensation in my lungs, but I kept running. I could hear the howling and snarling from behind me, that only made me run faster. My dress was torn in several places, the silk tattered and worn. I saw the cliff edge and began panic, I knew the drop was at least forty feet, last week another girl hadn't been looking and the police were still looking for her body in the river.
I wasn't prepared to die at age sixteen, the dogs got closer. I guess I needed to change my pace, right before the big drop off I made a quick turn right, straight into the thick undergrowth of the forest. I could feel my foot leave the edge and slightly droop into the abyss. But I had made the turn in time.
Now I was really in trouble, I heard yelping and a yell from the handler. He cursed as the chariot-like vehicle was pulled back, away from the fatal drop. I kept running, but a little slower. Until I found a short hill with a few boulders and tree roots crawling down the dirt wall. I collapsed, breathing hard, crawling under the overhanding foliage. I picked at me dress, it was hanging, almost like rags, at my knees. While my sleeves were covered with little spots of mud and grass stains. I laid down, and then I slowly drifted to sleep...
I've been in that sickly building for months, the woman who called themselves " The Unfortunate's Mothers", walked around with leather whips like warrens. They kept me in the room, which felt like a cell, I remember the day I was dropped off. It was cold outside, and the elderly man with little round glasses took me to that room with the strange machinery. He told me my name was Camilla Waterhouse, I told him he was mistaken.
I know my name, it's Priscilla Zeleska, and always will be. He just sighed and told me to leave my luggage with Mr. Vosco, I turned around. I almost jumped back and screamed. But instead I thrust out my briefcase. The man behind me wore a small bowler hat and wore a dark suit. He had and arched back, which didn't succeed in making him look shorter. This man looked to be seven feet tall. He grinned and displayed discolored rows of teeth. His eyes were covered my dark glasses that rest on his nose quite comfortably.
I let him take the handle of my briefcase with his bony finger, I swear he looks more like a skeleton and less than a man. The old man waved at a door in the far corner, "It is not time for your appointment, so Ms. Chandier will take you to your room.", the man smoke like I was a three year old who he controlled like a puppet. "I wasn't informed I had an appointment.", I just stood there, he just looked at me with a fake grin. "Oh, of course. It wasn't predetermined. Now run along.", before I could protest he rushed me out the door.
I almost opened the door and ran in when I met face to face with a hideous old woman, she looked like someone took a vaccum to her face. she had half circle glasses and a black uniform with a nurses hat on. I just pressed my back against the door as she looked at me in distaste. I stood anxiously. "So, follow me Camilla.", right now I don't care about this creepy building and the wrought iron gates with emotionless guards, I'm wondering, who's Camilla?
So that's about it, I plan to write more. But my inspirational juice is in need of a refill. I hope you liked it. I am focusing on the mystery element, for now. Maybe later I'll explore some other genres. Again, I hope you enjoyed this messy piece of my dreams as 'literature'.
Live long and prosper,
~Bunny
 Wurlee · Wed Oct 27, 2010 @ 08:57pm · 0 Comments |
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