When I wake up, The other side of my bed is cold,
My stomach won't even rumble, The craving never gets old,
The cottage grieves in sorrow Corrupted by tainted mould.
I always restrain the temptation to run, You’ll never catch me begging for gold,
Solitary seeps through the bed frame, My body only craves somebody to hold.
Book: The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins.
If your hand could reach inside my heart, What would you do with it?
Would you keep it safe inside my chest? (Or rip it apart?)
Would you bandage up the wounds? (Or give it deeper scars?)
Would you bring back the crimson glow? (Or turn it charcoal grey?)
Would you return the busted leftovers? (Or hide them away?)
If I could reach my hand inside your heart? What would I do with it?
Would I gently reach for it? (Or clasp my hand around it tight?)
Would I feel the soft drum of your heartbeat? (Or crush it inside my palm instead?)
Would I treasure it and keep it safe? (Or burn the shattered remains?)
I tried to tear out your heart and rip it apart, (But all I felt was a hollow chest)
(Warning: mention of murder and suicide)
“SAMANTHA!” The words slipped out of my mouth before her other foot even left the platform. Unfortunately, my words are quicker than my actions. I reached out to try and grab her hand in an attempt to save her but it was futile. Samantha had fallen 15 stories down to her demise, and it was all my fault.
I stood at the shattered window. Eyes wide in shock. What the fuck just happened? The room was silent, except for the sound of heavy uncontrollable breathing. My breathing. I need to calm down before I end up knocking myself out. I looked down at the axe that I hadn't realized I dropped directly onto my foot. The stinging pain started seeping in, but I don't think it was from the bleeding.
I took off my bloody shoe to take a look at how deep the cut was. It wasn't too deep. I looked at the blood on my axe, the blood that was supposed to be Samantha’s. I was going to kill her. I was fucking trying to kill her. My hand reached up to slap myself around the face. Once, twice, I don't know how many times I do it. Murderer. Did she jump out of the window or did I push her? It didn't matter, it was my fault either way. Samantha wanted to live, she told me multiple times while I spent my precious time chasing her up here, dragging my axe with me. Jumped or not? I was convicted and nothing but a sick, psychotic murderer.
I need to get out of here. I'm not going to prison for this. She jumped. She killed herself. I had no part in it, if you think about it I tried to save her. I'm not a killer, I'm a victim. Alright maybe I'm not so innocent, but that doesn't mean I can't make it look that way. Acting fast, I grabbed piece of paper and a pen and start writing.
‘I couldn't take the pain anymore, it was too much. I'm sorry -Sam.”
I placed the note on the desk and put the pen on top so it wouldn't blow away. Now I just had to wrap up my foot and clean up the blood around it so the police wouldn't test it for DNA.
FUCK THE AXE! What was I going to do about the axe? I didn't think this through. The clock was ticking, however, it wasn't under my control this time. I would clean off the blood and place it by the window hoping for the best. The police will hopefully think she broke the window with the axe.
Everything was cleaned down. Believable. It was time to move. And quick. I looked out the window and onto the pavement. There she lay, half bloody, half smashed into the concrete tiles. She was a far way down but I could still notice her wide, motionless eyes staring back up at me- more in my direction. I couldn't tell if I should be feeling guilt or relief that she was properly dead. This was what I wanted. Right?
It was time to make a move, there was just one problem. The door was locked and I had no access. Kind of my fault… I picked up the axe and headed towards the door. Like earlier, I swung it at the verification keypad. But in the hope that it would fully break this time. I smashed it a couple of times until I heard the glitching:
AC-CESS. .D-EN-I-
The door automatically swung open. I quickly placed the axe back where it was. Trying to steady my nerves, I took a deep breath and headed for the door at the end of the corridor that led to the stairway. The sound of sirens and screams in the distance got closer. They found her. I took the back exit that I chased her through and quickly got into my car, not looking back.
I slipped into bed and closed my eyes. Maybe I could sleep everything off like it was a dream. It helped me last time.
“Hello, Ash.” I shot up from my pillow. Samantha stood among the crowd and blended in with the rest of them who corrupted and haunted my deranged mind.
“You- you’re not real…” I stuttered. God get a grip, “I've seen this many times before-”
Mother barged into the room in a frantic hurry, “Ashton where the hell have you been I've been looking everywhere for you!”
“Quiet, please. They have visited.” I responded, keeping in eye contact with Samantha.
Mother walked over to my bedside table and opened the drawer quickly taking out a pot of medication. “Who? Who has visited Ash!”
“The prey… It's always the prey…”
”When did you last take your pills?” She asked, counting the tablets one by one.
The pills made me feel numb, I preferred to have control of my mind, “I TOLD YOU TIME AND TIME AGAIN! I don't need them fucking pills!” I yelled, snatching the pot and throwing it against the wall. The individual capsules fell out and trickled onto the floor like marbles.
”Ash, what did you get up to today?”
“Why don't you turn on the local news for once?” I answered. To this she hurried over to the remote lying on my bedroom floor and switched on the news, her hand trembling.
“You- you didn't. You couldn't. Not again.” Mother looked like she was about to throw up. Who could blame her? The images looked quite graphic.
“She was disrespectful. She had it coming.”
The thing about murder is you don't know how many people get away with it. There could be a lot of monsters wandering free in the world and nobody would know about it because they’re good enough at covering their tracks.
“She was prey.”
It's easier to tell someone the truth, When you can't see their face. I wait like a home-alone puppy, I finally get to feel your embrace. I light a vanilla-scented candle, I had the motivation to tidy the place.
The phone notification chimes, I open your message in haste. “I fell in love with somebody else…” My smile has drifted into space. Tears of mascara have left stains, My perfect makeup has gone to waste.
Despite my trembling fingertips, I respond back in hurt disgrace. “Whoever she is, she deserves better,” I always treat love like a race. It's easier to tell someone the truth, When you can't see their face.
“Oh, you wanna run?” His chilling voice booms through the corridor. Through the gaps in the crate, I watch as he enters the room and swiftly lifts his axe to slash the keypad on the laboratory door with one single hit, “Try and run!”
I accidentally let out a painful whimper. It was as if he could read my mind and shatter my only escape plan. There was nobody else in room 42, It was just me and him. I should've from the start that it would end like this. He chased me up here so nobody would hear me scream and I stupidly ran from him like prey. The room was a simple empty, bright white classroom which instead was used to store equipment and boxes of junk.
“Give up Samantha…” He quietly calls out to my direction. I kept a firm grip on the knife in my sweaty hand. Unfortunately, the only person who was injured was me, “I can hear you whimpering. Did I hurt you, darling? There's droplets of blood near the box you’re hiding behind.” He says.
He knew where I was. Of course, he did. There was no hiding from Ash. Or running. Ash was faster than most people, he just enjoyed the chase so he made it last longer. I watch his bloody trainers slowly tiptoe forward in my direction. There was no point in trying to hide. I slowly lifted my body out from the boxes. Please kill me quickly so it hurts less.
“Well well well…”
“Ash, please… I’m sorry,” I started to beg, “Please don’t kill me!”
His lips turn into a curve, “I'll make you deal sweetheart. I'll give you five minutes to try and escape. Fail to do so and…” He smirks and looks down at his bloody axe, “Well, you know.”
I nod. My body trembling, and my stomach felt like it was tied into an unmendable knot creating the sensation feel like I was going to hurl over and puke at any second. I can't tell if I should believe him or not. My body freezes as he sits beside me on the wooden box, “Well go then?” He demands.
I don't hesitate to pounce for the door. I slam my finger down on the verification pad.
ACCESS DENIED
“No.no.no.no!” My finger slams down again.
ACCESS DENIED
And again,
ACCESS DENIED
“PLEASE!” My mouth lets out a helpless scream, frantically slamming my entire body against the door. The predator let out a cackle behind me. The door was busted. Damn it think Samantha. I made a run to smash the window. The trees below me faded into the distance. Just my luck, the clock was ticking and it didn’t help knowing that even trying to land in the nearby lake could shatter my bones. The thought still seemed better than being chopped up into pieces with Ash’s axe.
My eyes glanced around the room. The vent system was too tiny to even attempt to squeeze through. My only last chance at survival would be my words.
“You got three minutes remaining,” Ash interrupted, pointing at the clock. His words were like daggers to my stomach. Time flies by when you’re trying to save your own life.
“You knew there was no way out of here,” I breathed. Trying to steady my voice, “You just wanted to watch the disappointment on my face didn't you?”
The sick smile on his face was an answer in itself, “Give up Samantha?” He asks.
“Please don't kill me, Ash. I don't want to die. I know I've taken life for granted and treated people badly but I don't deserve this. I'm sorry for everything I've done and said to everyone and I'll change I promise!” I beg.
Ash stands up and walks towards me, dragging the axe behind him. The vomit feels like it's rising to my throat. My legs mechanically reverse towards the window. I clear my throat.
“Please Ash, I won't tell anyone about this if you just let me go. I don't want to die. Please I swear I'll be better please don't kill me!” I can't process how many times I plead, or how many times I make deep promises I don't know if I can keep. It doesn't matter when it's my last resort, “You don't have to be a killer…”
Ash stops in front of me. My watery eyes shut tight. In front of me stood a psychopath who was intent on blasting my brains in and behind me was a foggy drop to my demise.
“You promise?” He asks. His voice was gentle, his face no longer smiling.
Teardrops fall at once down my cheeks like rain, “I promise.”
“Not good enough.”
My heart breaks a little more. Unexpectedly, he drops the axe in defeat. But it's too late. He screams my name in an attempt to grab my hand.
I already stepped off the edge.
England, London, 1815: (Modern English Dialogue)
I have been alive for nearly two hundred years. I think it's safe to say I've overstayed my welcome on this Earth. Unfortunately, I only just realised this now.
I was born a long time ago. 1624 to be exact, but I thought my time would end much quicker. When I turned 24 I caught the plague, and just like anyone's luck during that time, I was dying.
After a few weeks, I remained on what should have been my deathbed. I had taken that time to accept death for what is it, a cycle of life. That was until an old friend visited me. Anastasia was a witch, a very powerful one at that. She told me she was magical when I was just a little boy and asked me to keep it a secret. One day when the village got sick, all of the suspicious women got rounded up and were all burned. We were rewarded with food and water for revealing any witches we knew. When it was my turn to snitch on Anastasia I decided against it.
“Miss? Are you my doctor?” I asked her out of curiosity.
“I'm not a doctor,” Anastasia said. I could have recognized her voice from anywhere, “But I am here to help you.”
“Help me? I am dying. No herb remedies will save me from this…” I responded to her.
“I'm not here with any herbs. I'm saving you with witchcraft instead,” I look at her confused, “You may not remember me but you saved me one day, I'm here to return the favour. You ask for one thing and one thing only and I will give it to you.” She said.
“Can you make me live forever?” I asked her, “I don't want to ever be near to dying nor have to accept my fate again. Please make me live forever.”
And that's exactly what the witch did. However, I never thought I would regret it.
After healing from my illness it soon became clear to me I was immortal. I lived happily with the remaining of my family for the next few years until they faded away like the rest of the world. There were now more new worlds and I was the only one who got to be a part of all of them.
Over the years I noticed how Anastasia was gone too. I always wondered why she didn't decide to live forever with me.
1815
Now nearly two hundred years have passed and I'm still here. I got to watch how London changed over the decades. Houses got bigger, the food was better and the dresses were prettier. But that didn't matter to me. Juliette did.
I think Juliette was the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on in my two hundred years. She was also sweet, and skilful and came from a loving family. I never thought I would meet someone who made me so happy. Juliette was perfect.
That's why I couldn't ever marry her.
The one bad thing about Juliette was that she wasn't immortal like me. Neither would our kids be. That's why I knew I had to let her go before it was too late.
“Do you no longer love me?” Juliette asked me all of a sudden. Her eyes looked red and glossy.
“I- what Juliette?” I stuttered, shocked by what she just asked me.
“After all this time we have been courting, you never asked me to marry you,” She said, “At first everything you did for me was beautiful, you made me feel worthy and special. Now you can't even look me in the eyes anymore...”
“Juliet-”
“If you no longer love me that's alright,” she said, tears rolling down her eyes now, “If your leaving me just tell me now…”
“I'm leaving you, Juliette.” I said trying to hold in the swelling in my eyes and my closing throat, “But I will always love you.”
“Then why are you leaving me?”
“Because I am cursed. I am immortal and as amazing as that seems it's evil,” I answered, looking away now, “If I can't die then that means I would have to watch you die, and our future children too. I have been on this earth for too long enough to already watch it happen and I can't do it again. Not with you.”
Juliette was speechless. Heartbroken to say the least.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now but I have to leave you to live your life, but I love you. Always have and always will.”
And that was that. Over the years of her life, she soon fell in love with another man who was like her, mortal. I watched in the distance as she grew old and died like she always would.
The life Juliette lived was shorter than mine. But it was meaningful and better than mine would ever be.
Death is inevitable, everybody dies eventually. Maybe that's why people appreciate life because it doesn't last forever. That's when I learned immortality wasn't a gift if I was alone in it. It was a curse.
The end.
((Once again I lost the plot, wrote this at night and will probably regret it in the morning.))
My mother never believed me when I warned her about the Rain Monster. Who could blame her? I was only a young girl. He appeared on Halloween night when I was eight years old. My bucket of sweets was nearly full and the sky started to growl agitated with thunder.
“Time to go home now sweetheart.” My mother had told me. The sky then began to pour heavy rain down on our heads, drenching my day of the dead makeup. As a typical young and bratty girl, I pretended not to hear her and jogged on to the next door.
DINNG DONGGG The doorbell sounded. I looked cheekily behind me. Mother was gone. My eyes scanned around desperately. She was nowhere to be seen. I don't know what I was thinking knocking at a pitch-black house with no decorations. Just as I turned around to step off the porch, the door creaked. The feeling of cold and bony fingertips grazed the backs of my shoulders. Lifting up all the hairs on my neck. I slowly turned back around to face it. Him.
“Happy Halloween little one…” His voice creeped. I bit down on my tongue trying to suppress a scream. His eyes broke contact with mine and slowly looked up to the dripping porch.
“Where is your mother, little girl? It's pouring.” He asked.
”I- I don't-”
“Why don't you come inside and we can wait for her together?” He asked. Stretching out a long, fleshless hand. With razor-sharp fingernails.
“My mommy told me not to go with strangers…” I replied, stepping backwards, away from the man.
“Then at least take my umbrella to keep yourself dry.” He pulled out a large umbrella from the shadows of his doorway. As a child I was foolish. Mother all ways told me not to take things from strangers. But I stupidly leaned in and pulled out my hand to take it.
“Thank you…” I began to say, just right before he used his free hand to lock around my wrist and start dragging me in. I let out a piercing scream for my mother.
The sound must have disturbed him as he stumbled back and released his grip for a split second, giving me enough time to jump of the porch and make a run for it. I ran straight back up the street and noticed my mother sitting on the previous porch steps, waiting for me.
“You have an amazing imagination.” My mother continued to tell me. No matter how much I sobbed or begged her to believe me.
Maybe if I had tried harder to convince her that the Rain Monster was real, he wouldn't have been able to follow us home that night.
Maybe if I had taken my mother to the house and shown her herself, maybe she would still be here today.
Maybe if I hadn't disobeyed my mother at all, I would be free.
I was now celebrating my thirteenth birthday, or mourning my five years of being trapped down here.
The basement was freezing cold and filthy. It was dimly lit by a single lamp. The concrete floor was chipped and empty. Nothing comfortable for us to sleep on. It was getting overcrowded by sobbing, malnourished children.
We always felt like we were dying, but he made sure that we wouldn’t have the satisfaction of actually being at peace.
I think he meant to do that on purpose.
“Someone fetch me my umbrella!” He called out down to the basement, “It's raining again.”
The end. (I wrote this at 2 Am I have no idea what I'm on about.)
