Ok cool! (I think its pretty cool myself, tell me what you think!)
Scrrreeeeeeeaaaacch. John shot up from his bed, his heart beating rapidly, sweat dripping from his brow. Slowly the worn and rusty door opened, revealing nothing but the pitch black darkness of abyss beyond. It was coming for him, he knew it. The evil he had feared since he was a child; the darkness he had fled from all his life, had finally caught up with him. There was no escape. There was never any escape for him, and he knew it. Growing up in the beautiful and luscious valleys of Ireland revealed nothing to him but claustrophobia and paranoia. He never saw the bright green grass, the setting sun, or even the face of his own mother. Blackness and fear was all that he knew, blind since he was only a baby.
He felt his legs twitching beneath the worn, colorless sheets of his bed which felt rough against his skin, unwashed and old. He sat there against the darkness, daring not to make a sound, for hours upon end. He knew it was standing there, waiting. It was enjoying himself, he could tell. It would slowly tear him apart, limb by limb, its bright red eyes glaring upon him; its white glistening teeth showing through its grinning mouth. He could do nothing to stop it. He could not run; he could not move; he could not breath, for it would surely grab his legs and break them with the ease of snapping a twig. All he could do was wait. His lifeless eyes, fogged over with the decaying disease of blindness, burned, like they had so many times before. Blood dripped out of his sockets and down his face, slowly, ever so slowly, until it reached the tip of his chin. He would not wipe it off, even though he feared what would happen if he did not. He would not scream, even though his pain was great.
Drrrrrrrrriiiiiiiip. The echo from the dropping blood ricocheted throughout the stone encrusted room of his small house for minutes upon end. He flinched, realizing that this would be when he would die. The beast had surely heard the sound and smelled the dark tang of the falling blood, it could not wait any longer.
Scrrrrraaaaaaaatch. John jumped up on top of his bed, the coarse sheets below his callused feat. He would not die, he would fight back. He could not die. He would not let himself die! The scratching of the fiend’s claws echoed through the room, the sound becoming louder and louder, closer and closer, the intense darkness of the room still filled his eyes. He could feel the cool breath of the demon’s breath upon his face. It was far to close now, far too close.
John leapt as high and as far as he could possibly accomplish towards the door, hoping with his entire mind and heart that he would be able to escape. He did not. The monster’s sharp and jagged claw had been forced into his abdomen, the blood slowly dripping down his body, staining the nightgown he wore. John would be dead any second, the pain too intense to bear any longer; the monster had won. But no! It had not been victorious, John no longer had to flee. He no longer had to constantly fear the darkness. He softly chuckled as his life slowly drained from his body. He was free.
The brightness of the mid-day sun now shone through the open door of John’s musty room as the cool wind made its way inside. John’s beloved cat, Merigold, slowly scuffled its way towards its master, its paws lightly scratching the rough wooden floor beneath them. It glanced up at its master. John hung from mid air, the blood from his wound dripping onto the floor. His body still held up by the rusted, metal coat hanger nailed to the wall which now appeared through a large, gaping wound in his abdomen, a slight grin still apparent on his worn and wrinkled face. Merigold softly purred as it lifted its head and began to lick the dry, crimson blood from its master’s pale, white feet.
hehehe...
