I dive underneath the canopy of newspapers spread across the coffee table, temporarily shielded from the stream of bullets which I can hear attacking the house outside. Every low but piercing bang penetrates my eardrums, sending a chilly response which stiffens my spine.
The heavy bullets of rain pause momentarily, giving me a chance to leap upon the window sill and strip the curtain off its pole. I wrap the curtain around me - I cannot let slip any slim chance of survivial. Suddenly the cluttering bangs continue outside ... amplifying slowly as I can almost smell the reek of petrol which smothers its yielder growing stronger and stronger.
There is no way out.
The bedroom door bellows a silent scream through its ajar mouth, beckoning me to enter its depths - a potential asylum. I sprint through the corridor, photos and paintings of the family members who have already fallen victim to the beast outside smashing onto the floor behind me ... chasing my own footsteps ...
By the time my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room my palms are sticky with the blood from various wounds cut open by the apprentices of this villain outside. Yes, it is a villain! The one who has come to seize me yet again. The thundering of my caged heart threatens the silence which blankets me, every truncated breath a deathly betrayal of my whereabouts.
The barrage of the machine gun outside appears to have ceased, and with it I release a sigh of relief. But I do not let my guard down ... I will not let them catch me ...
***
Yet again, the weary breath which is cut short upon every entry into what was once the serenity of a home. She sighs as she recognises the familiar traces of a victim's flight from the horror of one's nightmares ...
It is not long before she catches sight of a deranged Winston, huddled underneath her bed sheets clad in the navy blue of her living room curtain. Today he wears the Sydney Morning Herald around his neck as well.
She smiles off the wet tear which brushes down her lined cheeks as she parks the lawn mower back into its position in the garage space, the rusting backyard swings echoing from the absence of the lawn mower's sputtering engines. Tentatively she enters the house, carefully picking up the family photos which lie scattered ... shattered ... across the corridor.
It bears her great pain to watch as Winston, once a lively child, darts underneath her bed defensively, hands clasped together in the jagged gesture of a gun.
Winston will never hear of the real world ... he lies trapped within the impenetrable confines of his own mind. And she realises that this is where he will remain. Unheeded by the burden of reality, he passes his days without the knowledge of grief, remorse, sentimentality. He turns and turns in the cell of his own mind like a fly that doesn't know where to die. Forever preoccupied with what we see as the insignificances of our own lives, he is troubled by little beyond the treacherous games weaved together by the imagination with eternally binds him ...
Author's Note: 542 words. okay I've spent almost a minute figuring out what i'm supposed to capitalise in my title ... and I don't really like this story either. It doesn't make sense :(
After reading your excellent story, i've lost my motivation and confidence to write my story...
ReplyDelete:O haha i thought we had to write our own posts before reading others :P i just realised no one actually said that haha!!
ReplyDeleteno, i'm sure that when you post yours it's going to be mind blowing!!
I like it. I'm surprised at your random grammatical mistakes though. First of all, I'm really questioning the "heavy bullets of rain" in the second paragraph... My main qualms with this are the grammar haha but only because I'm really pedantic about it?
ReplyDeleteUm...I'm just confused about the connection between the first scene and the second. You had me a little confused with the sudden appearance of Winston as well - but that might be because I thought he was a dog until I read on.
Other than that, you had good use of style and pace. Especially with the word play like scattered and shattered with ellipsis. It's was just really effective at echoing the emptiness and slowing down and *waves hands dramatically to emphasise point*.
You're amazing. Just saying. Ah I won't comment on this piece anymore, I'm just basking in the adrenaline you get from reading well paced action stories.