To Darkness - Writing #1

Recently I wasn't in a good place, after talking to a friend funnily enough. But enough of that. My muse returned to me, as it often does. I am more creative when I am depressed and down than normal, but this causes my writings and drawings to be somewhat darker than I'd like. But I get quite descriptive. I'll go into that another day. What I wanted to show you guys today was a short story/descriptive piece I wrote. I'd like feedback on it, because I am thinking of entering it in a local competition. Just let me know.

Not-so-average-human-being
Samantha.

To Darkness

 

In an empty room, in a dark old house, there’s a light. One light, illuminating the corner of the room. One girl sits in the corner; up against the walls with their wallpaper fading and peeling; on the floor with the creaky floorboards. Above her head sits a shelf, adorned with children’s toys. Remnants of another life the girl used to live. A picture on the wall opposite wall, of an older lady, long since dead.

The girl on the floor doesn’t move. She hadn’t moved for a long time now. Dressed in her white jumper, navy skirt and stockings, she looks like she’s just come from school. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her legs up and her head down, blond hair obscuring her face.

No sound comes from the corner and silence reigns, but a single tear slips from a bright blue eye, down an exposed white-pale cheek. That single tear betraying the fact that the girl is alive, and does feel; Betraying the fact that she is frozen in terror, paralysed by a fear that haunts her, invades her mind and changes her. It’s called the darkness, the void, and slowly it kills you.

The light in the room seems to dim as a tendril of darkness starts reaching out towards her. Slithering across the floor and crawling up the wall it comes, leading other darkness tendrils to move. Something moves in the darkness and scampers out the door with a hiss as the murmuring begins.

The murmuring continues, quiet but menacing, but the girl doesn’t move or make a sound. The tendrils creep closer and the closer they get, the darker they become, the more solid they appear, forming into monsters. Monsters to create nightmares.

Slowly the girl raises her head in trepidation, half suspecting, half hoping that she’s been lying to herself, but the look of terror on her face says otherwise.

 

All at once the tendrils pounce, all so quickly and a piercing scream erupts from the girl’s throat, as she tried to fight the tendrils away to no avail. They wrap themselves around her wrists and ankles, keeping her still. They wrap themselves over her mouth, keeping her silent. Slowly tendrils inch their way across her body, over her eyes, around and in her ears, and down her throat; but their touch is gentle, like a lover seeing their partner after a long separation. The girl tried to fight, but gets nowhere as the tendrils around her neck start to strangle her. Slowly she is smother by darkness as even her own sight goes black.

 

In an empty room, in a dark house, the light has gone. In the room remains a girl, lying on the floor, motionless. She has blond hair, turning black and the remains of a torn white jumper, no longer white but turning black. The girl doesn’t move or make a sound. A strangled breath comes from the girl’s throat and her eyes flicker open, to reveal the inky blackness of death.