CheezeGirl89
(?)Community Member
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- Posted: Mon, 07 Mar 2005 00:39:26 +0000
Okay this is just an idea I have had for a story lately. I have written out the opening scene. Here it is:
It's loud. It won't stop, the noise won't stop. The screaming, yelling, her voice pleading for her life. This rises above the the sound of the sirens that whirl around me. Over the visions of her death, that keep replaying in the back of my mind, I can see the red and blue lights on the buildings outside of the car. My wrists hurt terribly from the metal cuffs that are bound too tightly. Looking over at the window I can see my reflection in the glass. Bloodstained tears leave trails as they flow down my face. My hair is a fossil of what it once was. The golden strands, almost silver, that fall around me are no longer such. Why is this happening to me? Why won't anybody believe me when I say I didn't do it. I didn't kill her. It's useless. They will never believe me. Besides her dead body, I was the only one. I was covered in her blood and the knife was in my hand. The same knife I saw plunge into her body over and over as her screams filled the air. The same knife that ended her life as it was drawn quickly across her neck. Of course they won't believe me. Who would. Let it be a nightmare. Let me wake up at home in my bed where I can call for my mom to comfort me.
It's loud. It won't stop, the noise won't stop. The screaming, yelling, her voice pleading for her life. This rises above the the sound of the sirens that whirl around me. Over the visions of her death, that keep replaying in the back of my mind, I can see the red and blue lights on the buildings outside of the car. My wrists hurt terribly from the metal cuffs that are bound too tightly. Looking over at the window I can see my reflection in the glass. Bloodstained tears leave trails as they flow down my face. My hair is a fossil of what it once was. The golden strands, almost silver, that fall around me are no longer such. Why is this happening to me? Why won't anybody believe me when I say I didn't do it. I didn't kill her. It's useless. They will never believe me. Besides her dead body, I was the only one. I was covered in her blood and the knife was in my hand. The same knife I saw plunge into her body over and over as her screams filled the air. The same knife that ended her life as it was drawn quickly across her neck. Of course they won't believe me. Who would. Let it be a nightmare. Let me wake up at home in my bed where I can call for my mom to comfort me.
