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Member
Join Date: Apr 2007
Posts: 1
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Telephone
Hey, my name's So Dark The Con Of Man, and I've written a short story. I was just hoping to get some constructive critisism/comments. Thanks in advance!
Warm, salty tears flowed in streams down her face; they dripped into her blood-covered hands where the two mixed to form a lighter, clearer red. This mixture then found its way down from her hands and onto the floor where they left a trail; her bread crumbs in this twisted game of death. She was a ship stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm at sea.
As she came into a hallway, she noticed there were blood stains on the floor, as if someone had been dragged across the hallway, and into one of the rooms. She tentatively turned into the hallway, and followed the trail of stained carpet to a large, wooden door, magnificently carved with portraits of famous world leaders, and random scenes of death. She reached down to the doorknob, and slowly turned it. She heard the latch inside turn, and she pushed open.
The moment she saw what lay inside, waiting for her eyes to gaze upon it and be forever scarred, she wished she hadn’t opened the door.
There was almost nothing in the room. The walls were a dull, faded white with blood smears across the walls. There was no furniture in the room. No window to let in any light. Not even a ceiling lamp to cast a soft glow onto this dark canvas of disgust. The only way she could see the monstrosity of what was inside, was the low light coming from the hallway.
In the middle of the room, attached to the ceiling, was a small, thin, piano wire, which continued down almost the entire length of the tall room. Attached to the end of the wire was a noose, and inside the loop of the noose was a human neck. Blood was seeping out at the point where the wire was cutting into the neck, and the eyes of the man were looking down, as though to see his pain.
His stomach had been completely and utterly destroyed with lacerations. The bloody cuts seemed to almost spell a word, a word she could not make out due to the blood oozing out. The man’s right hand was missing, and blood dripped freely from the open wound. Three of the fingers on his left hand were all that remained, and there was blood coming from his mouth, as though he had been punched several times.
Just as she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the man jerked. He was alive. But that wasn’t what she cared about. If he was alive, then she might be able to save him.
Before she even entered the room to help the poor man, he began to become scared, and he jerked around dangerously. The force of the bouncing up, and then back down on the piano wire cause it to bite into his skin even more.
She tried to yell at him, to get him to stop. She ran into the room and reached out to help him, but he seemed to think she was the one hurting him. He kicked violently at her, and she flew back when one connected with her head.
By this time, the wire was so far into his neck, she couldn’t see it anymore. She yelled at him to stop, but it was too late. As he finally realized that he was killing himself, he became even more scared. He flailed around more, which caused more tension on the wire.
Also coming to a realization, the woman backed off. She had realized that she couldn’t help this man; that he was supposed to die. And as she realized this, he did. His jerking motions finally caused the wire to slice cleanly through the remainder of his neck.
She screamed.
His body hit the ground first, with a sickening thud and crack of bones. His head came next, like a basketball falling to the ground. Upon crashing into the ground, it rolled over to the body, and rested near the neck.
She screamed again.
Without ever looking back, she turned from the room and ran. She ran as fast as she could, not knowing where she was going. Not knowing what she’d find. Not knowing if she would ever get out of this house alive.
The hallway seemed to go on forever, and she thought it would. She covered her eyes with her blood-stained hands in a feeble attempt to stop the tears now streaming from her eye sockets, and, not able to see where she was going, kept running. After what must have seemed like an eternity she tripped, and fell, opening her eyes to see that she was on a flight of stairs.
At the top of the stairs was a door. This one even more wonderful than the first door. This one covered with even more blood.
She walked slowly up the stairs, and, upon reaching the top, opened the door. The room—much like the first one she visited—was empty, save for a long, slender, black pole in the middle of the room that ran from floor to ceiling.
About three feet from the bottom of the pole was a telephone. A white telephone. Her savior.
She walked over to it and stared at it in awe. She knew what would happen next. She knew she would be getting out alive. She knew all of this was over for her.
The phone rang, and she picked it up. The ship docked, and all was right with the world.
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