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I'm a 13 year old writer with minor ego problems and a lot of ambition. Romance drives me crazy, but if it's short, I can read it. I like to write straight out fantasy.

Message to Readers

I'd like honest opinions. Did you think it was too violent? What was good? What can be improved? If you hated it, go ahead and say so.

The Horror of The Night In Richmond

August 1, 2015


Crash! I kicked the door down with one mighty blow. It laid a splintering mess on the floor. Snores vibrated from the ceiling above and were suddenly cut off. My five KKK men and I proceed to a flight of rickety stairs. We tromped up them quickly, for they were groaning under our intense weight.
When we reached the top, scuffling came from the room to our right. We entered it slowly and saw a woman, Charlotte Topham, trying to pry open a sealed window. She hadn't seen us yet and tried again and again to open the window. I took a step forward and the floor creaked loudly under my feet. Charlotte whipped around, a long rusted piece of metal gripped tightly in her hand.
The attack began.
She was a small woman and didn't put up much of fight. But her screams, they rang through the night and shattered the world with their high pitch frequency. We grabbed at her and tore our hands on the course itchy nightgown she was wearing. She had obviously bathed recently, for she smelled of homemade lilac soap. Charlotte continued screaming until we tore off part of her nightgown and stuffed it into her mouth. I imagine she could taste dirt and metallic blood. Church Bells rang, signaling the early hours of the morning. It was still too early for Richmond to rise.
We dragged her from her room and threw her down the stairs. She hit the floor with an earsplitting thump. Blood leaked onto the floor, staining it forever. I clunked down the stairs like a peg leg pirate. Charlotte was strong and began to struggle to rise off the floor. My counterparts and I jerked her off of the ground and paraded her onto the streets of Richmond. She kicked us and tried to hit us, so we snapped her wrists. She went limp, but was still breathing hard. As we got closer to the James, the smell of rotting fish filled the air. Charlotte spit the piece of her nightgown out of mouth, but did not scream. The roughness of her nightgown's fabric had done a beautiful job of shredding her mouth. Scarlet drops of blood dripped from her face.
When we reached the James, we dumped her into the river and pulled her out again after one minute. She was thrown onto the shore, to cough up poison river water. Her body shook with silent sobs. I ran a knife straight down her back, my hand shaking as I did. Her night gown fell away from her body and she lay there naked. I drew a barbed whip from a barrel by the shore of the river. Looking at Charlotte, I knew that only more pain would come. My eyes dampened. I could not and would not hurt this woman more. But then there was the Klan to think about. What would they do to me if I could not uphold this wretched task? I could not take the chance. Raising the whip above my head, I brought it down hard onto her back.
Her screams would haunt my soul forever.
This was a piece for school that later one me first place in a contest. It's not about pain or violence, but about the senses and CSI included in the piece. 


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  • August 1, 2015 - 4:20pm (Now Viewing)

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