DesyAnn

United States

Message to Readers

My town was hit with a bad storm a few nights ago and it inspired me to write this. I didn't want to get into specifics- what the threat is- because I think that implications adds to the suspense and scare. Sorry for the repetitive pronouns- I didn't want to bother thinking of good names.

Go Back to Sleep

June 7, 2020

FREE WRITING

1
    He awakens when a thunderous boom shakes the house. It is still dark outside save for the flashes of light that slither and crack in the clouds. A chill crawls down his spine when he picks up an ominous sound- one he knows only comes to life when wind and rain fight for dominance. 
    The wooden walls of his shabby house creak. Having woken up from a deep sleep, he prays his eyes are betraying him when he sees the walls of their house sway- under a thrall? In a regular storm, walls in the village would simply crack or break away. 
    Frantically, he looks around the house for any traces of them. No spilled food, no footprints, no stains smeared on the walls, and, most importantly, no marks on his skin. He suppresses a shudder. He must be seeing things- a reasonable explanation since he awoke earlier than usual. The walls are not swaying, he must be dizzy. 
    His relief stops short when a bright pinkish light shines through the window. That is a bad sign. Rosy, bloody-looking skies signify their arrival, and gods help those they claim for their nightly feasts and rituals. He calms knowing that they haven’t crossed his house yet but a fear awakens when he realizes they could be well on their way to. He must hurry. 
    Pushing off the rags he used to protect himself from the chill, he stands up and takes a moment to steady his shaking legs. 
    Limping to the door, he pulls the small knob and steps outside. His heart drops. 
    The rest of the village does not stir or scurry for shelter. They do not knock on other doors and warn their neighbors of the dreadful omen painted on the sky. Townspeople do not hang protective herbs on doors and windows, lace knobs in poisonous powders or tonics, or, on rare occasions, offer slumbering pets on doorsteps as sacrifices to spare the people inside. 
    Nobody covers their ears from the wails of the brewing storm, or from what the storm could be brewing. Nobody covers their eyes from what they might see hidden in the blur of the wind and rain. Nobody covers their mouths to hide their whimpers, their screams, or their harsh breathing when their door shakes and their house is submerged in a deep red cloud almost black. 
    They do not do any of this because they are gone. Buildings, huts, and markets are in tatters- clothes, food, and gold and silver strewn about. The crops in fields dried up and rotten. 
    He shakes his head and feels his hands have gotten wet. Had the tears growing in his eyes fallen on his hands? Had the waves of rain riding the wind drenched his hands? He tilts his face toward the red sky and feels the rain hit his face with the wind like a sandstorm. The world seems to sway and his vision blurs because he has not fully awoken. 
    Wake up
    A rustle and a whimper behind him.
    Turning around, his mind numbs when he sees a family crouched in a corner, clutching each other, eyes wide, trembling before him. 
    Blood drips from his hands. 

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  • June 7, 2020 - 5:21pm (Now Viewing)

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