Run Girl Run
"EmMma," slithered from his mouth. Her eyes honed on a cracked and mold stained mirror reflecting fractured glimpses of his approach. Emma's heart thundered over its own beats. Thump-thump-thump-thump. She wrapped both her hands around her mouth and squeezed tight; pressing her elbows down on her own ribs in attempts to slow her breathing. Terror rose in her heart like a black fire and it hurt. His steps echoed off walls and thin plywood. A wind blew flapping tarps, a sound reminiscent of bats escaping a cave. Her thoughts scrambled for safe resolutions, He passes. I run. He passes. I run. He passes... A deep burly laugh interrupted her plan of escape slowly drowning down to a madman's cackle. A high pitch scream accompanied her pursuers inhalation serving as his crescendo to his display of a psychotic symphony. Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face as sobs of absolute dread forced muffled noises from her hand-covered mouth. Panic sprang through her. She knew her nose was beginning to run and her next breath would be loud, too loud. She knew it was now or never.
Emma let her mouth free and fear forced a deep and broken up inhale. She felt his presence turn towards her as she ran as fast as she could for the work site entrance. The keys are in the car. The keys are in the car—shotgunned through her mind. Her legs moved with a purpose like never before—they burned and felt heavier with every desperate pump. She saw the chain fencing and the slid open gate. Slight relief hardened into determination. You can do this, almost there, just a little bit farther. She heard a sound that deadened all hope in an instant. The jostling of keys and they were unmistakably her keys. They were but inches behind her. She knew then like never before that this was it. In a last attempt to live and in a cry for all that she was her voice boomed, "SOMEBODY FUCKING HEL—"
The old detective was unperturbed when he saw the bloody body parts scattered cavalierly on the ground. His partner stepped carefully so as not to disturb the crime scene. Because this was his first day on the job, he kept asking questions excitedly, disturbing the train of thought of his older partner, who seemed to be in a reverie as he contemplated the murder site. “For someone who has been on the force for so long, you sure don’t talk much,” the younger man chattered.
Rolling his eyes in consternation, the old detective realized reluctantly that his young colleague was asking way too many questions and, unfortunately, would have to be his next victim.
The little girl approached the edge of the wishing well cautiously. Standing on her tippy toes, she peered over the rim and stared down into the darkness far below. It looked like any ordinary well but her big brother, Adam, told her it was a magical wishing well. Adam was already ten, so if he said it was magic, then it had to be true. She took a step back and looked around. She was standing at the center of a clearing. Flowers grew in patches at the base of the well. She liked the red flowers. Once she made her wish, she will pick some flowers for mommy. Mommy loves yellow flowers but she will like the red ones too. The little girl looked back at the wishing well. She dug her hand into her pocket for the penny Adam had given her earlier that morning. Clutching her penny tightly, she stretched her arm out over the well. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and made her wish. “I wish the monster would go away. I wish the monster would go away. Please, please, please make the monster go away.” Her nose crinkled in concentration and her lips traced every word as she thought of her wish. Eyes still squeezed shut, she uncurled her fingers and dropped her penny into the well.
Generations: Eve Neverdream (Excerpt)
The steady whoosh whoosh of the pursuing dragon almost deafened Eve as she frantically zig-zagged through the dense woods. How the dragon knew exactly where she was through this impenetrable layer of leaves, vines, and branches, she didn't know.
Each breath hurt, and her legs burned. She could feel blood trickling down her left temple and some more on her right side from Anvil's blade staff.
I hate that man, she growled mentally. If only she had a weapon, she would kill that dragon with such pleasure.
The thought surprised herself, actually, but she didn't have time to even think longer on it.
She screamed and ducked as the dragon swooped down with blinding speed through a break in the foliage. She fell, headlong, as she tripped over a rock. She could its rough edges cutting open her ankles, and her face was shoved into the ground. The dragon flew a mere inches over her head, talons extended.
Eve was frozen there, even though her mind was screaming for her to get up and run, as the dragon was doing a sharp turn and coming back for her again.
Right as it got ready to swoop, her mind finally jolted into action, and she half-ran, half-tumbled over a log, scraping her palms and knees.
Please, please, don't let it get me! she prayed silently.
The dragon's talons scrabbled at the log, digging deep gouges into it. Eve cringed, imagining those talons ripping into her flesh...
I can't let Anvil get this staff from me, she thought frantically, her thoughts scattering like the chaff on the wind. If only I knew how to use this, I could kill this stupid dragon, maybe even Anvil himself...
"Stupid Elders," she growled to herself. "Thinking they have to keep all the secrets of the Staffs to themselves...Ahh!"
She took off running, her sides burning, the staff still strapped to her back so it wouldn't fall off.
"Eve, you can't outrun my dragon," Anvil called out from his comfortable position astride the dragon.
She gritted her teeth. He sounded so calm, so confident, so in control...and she hated him even more. "Don't be so sure!"
Anvil laughed, then growled, "Give me the Staff!"
"Not a chance," she snapped back, and decided not to talk anymore--it was wasting her breath, and she needed every precious one.
"Alrighty, but remember, you brought this upon yourself!" he warned calmly, a smirk playing across his handsome features.
Eve's brain completely froze up. her body kept running out of instinct, but she was so frozen mentally with fear.
Anvil was right--this was completely over. He was going to...
Everything went black.
©Copyright 2017 Abigail Burchwell
All Rights Reserved.
There was a baby crying. She could hear it, sounding muffled to her ears, muted as though she was under water. Something tickled in the back of her mind. She knew it was something important only, she couldn't remember. It probably doesn't matter, she thought. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Everything felt hazy, heavy yet, strangely peaceful. So peaceful. She let herself drift, floating away into blackness while somewhere outside her halcyon world, a baby still cried.
SPENCER’S parents were completely hush-hush when it came to packing his bags and shipping him out to an island off of the coast of the UK. At first he figured that he was being sent to some lavish resort since his parents were into those kind of luxuries, naturally since his family wreaked wealth. But then, when he stepped off the speedboat his butler transported him in, the old man made a sharp U-turn away from the land, speeding off as far away from the island as possible.
“Alastair, what the fuck?!” He shouted after him, voice full of outrage. But the butler made no signs of turning around or stopping. Instead, he held up a very clear gloved middle finger that wasn’t muffled by the horizon until the boat was farther than his eyes could see. Spencer couldn’t believe it. Then again, he did push Alastair down the stairs quite often growing up. And he wrecked his car (not including the many cars Spencer’s family paid for after the first, second, and third Alastair bought). And he put tacks in his pillowcase whenever the butler fucked up. “Okay, I deserved that.” At the same time, it could have been worse. Spencer was known to fuck shit up from a petty to a criminal degree. Sighing, the young man turned towards the island and walked down the trail attached to the dock, rolling his luggage behind him.
JAMIE on the other hand was well-informed of her arrival to the island. Though her parents didn’t say much to her (she couldn’t blame them; they were always so busy with their jobs that they never actually had time to even say “hello” to her), her older sisters Francesca and Paige didn’t spare her the constant reminders.
“You keep screwing up all of the bloody time.” Francesca scolded while snipping away at Jay’s split ends.
“Mum and Dad are going to lose their heads if you bang up as often as you do.” Paige sighed with the shake of her head as she packed Jay’s bags.
“Honestly, you think that you would be able to easily set aside your normal behavior and be the princess Mum and Dad want during the incredibly rare times they’re around, but noooooo. Jay just does whatever the fuck she wants.” Francesca continued, now combing through her hair. Jay wasn’t even listening to her sisters. She was still set on the fact that her parents were sending her away all because she set a ballroom on fire during an charity gala a few nights before. Of course, she did it on purpose; she hated being there and she hated the looks she was receiving. It wasn’t her fault that old guy set her off by drunkenly trying to get into her pants. Well, more like up her expensive dress.
“Do you think I should cut my hair?” Jay asked, desperate to change the subject. Her older siblings stopped what they were doing to inspect each angle of her head. Paige nodded first.
“Yeah. That would be totally fit for you. You have the short haired face.”
“I think a bob might work,” Francesca suggested, fingering through Jay’s hair. There was a sad smile on her face. “We’re really going to miss having you around. You could have done so many great things if you collabed with our work instead of being a bloody, blinking bap in front of our parents.”
“Calm down,” Jay waved off with a grunt, scooting down in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s not like I’m going to war.”
“But you might,” Paige countered.
“Doubtful,” Jay sighed.
AUBREY stayed silent the entire flight to the island on his family’s private jet while his mother rambled on about him doing his best and staying safe while there. His father couldn’t make it to wish him off. That was probably because his father was the Prime Minister of England, therefore he didn’t have much time for anything. His mother stopped when seeing his face and gave him a sad smile, leaning over in her seat over the small table with bottled champagne to hold his hand.
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine. It’s only a year after all. Then you can come home to your madre and padre just might be there to welcome you.” Aubrey snatched his hand back to him, not looking his mother in the eye and keeping his gaze set on the clouds outside through the window. “Aubrey…”
“Mum. You had the maids set out champagne for us like this is some kind of celebration. You want me gone.” Aubrey couldn’t count on his fingers the amount of wrongs that he’s done, but most of it fell under arson, destruction of property, grand theft auto, burglary, assault and battery and illegal drug use. Of course, all of his wrongdoings were quickly swept to the side before it ever gained media attention. It would not look good if the son of the Prime Minister was some low-life hooligan.
"Logan," A voice called out of the darkness in a singsongy voice. Logan held his breath, something he was really good at.
"Come out and play!"
"Oh please, don't make this hard," The voice was getting closer. Logan mentally wacked himself for letting himself get cornered by a hooded figure that was extremely creepy. He was like a super bad version of the grim reaper
"Oh God, please no," Logan prayed silently. The footsteps were getting closer by the secon.
"Please Logan, don't make this hard for me. I've known you for a while and I know how you are, where you want to hide or go, how you and what you think. I'm inside your head," They voice sounded familiar but Logan couldn't place it.
"No, you aren't," Logan wanted to say but kept it in.
They where behind and infront. Logan about had a heart attack. The footsteps where walking around him, in circles.
"I can smell you," The voice was so familiar.
A hand was laid on his shoulder.
"What do you want?" Logan froze, barely able to get those words out.
"I don't need you, I already have you," The voice was right beside his head now.
Logan turned around and looked. The hooded figure took the hood down.
"It's, It's You?"
She sucked in a breath, or tried to, in the midst of the black water. The ocean was everywhere, in her head, up her nose, burning her eyes, strangling her lungs.
It was impossible to tell which way was up, and she struggled, lightning bolts of terror flashing through her writhing body. She couldn't tell if those were snakes wrapping around her, or her own red hair.
The water seemed to be pressing in on her.
But suddenly, she broke the surface, gasping in air as if she had never breathed.
As her pounding heart slowed, she gazed around, shock widening her eyes. She saw another world, one with black, twisted trees and a blood-red sky.
Fear pounded at her heart.
Were those eyes watching her? Or merely fireflies?
A shadow broke apart from the black trees, approaching the edge of the crystal water.
It studied her with impossibly violet eyes, she was mesmerized by them, so much so that she couldn't tear her gaze away.
The being gasped silently, then whispered one word.
George Blurth is a thirteen-year-old loner. In one brief moment, a confrontation with the school bully changes everything in his life. When he is unable to forgive and forget, George retaliates, which results in an incident that gains national attention. He and his alcoholic father run away.
But life has other plans for George. Months afterward, he is confronted with a far deadlier incident. George barely survives an attack by Hank Calner, a serial killer. Believing he himself a fugitive, George is reluctant to go to the police.
In Hank’s mind, the monster’s deranged hidden secrets won’t allow him to spare the boy. He sets out to stalk and torment George. Hank plays with the boy like a large cat playing with a mouse before killing its prey. However, George is not prey. He has hidden dangerous secrets of his own.
It is Los Angeles in the 1960’s, a turbulent decade of assassinations, riots, and war.
I rarely write of men, but for him I'll make an exception.
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