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Challenge of the Week XCVI
Goosebumps. It's that time of year. The genre is horror. Write something scary, something spooky, something that sends chills down the spine, causes goosebumps to prickle your reader's skin. There's a catch. This week you will write the first part of a two-part piece. Next week you'll finish the story you started. This week we're looking for a great start to the story. Next week we'll be looking for a strong finish. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.
Cover image for post Lucky (Part 1), by sweetsilence
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sweetsilence
162 reads

Lucky (Part 1)

“Laying in blood that’s not my own, though I’m halfway dead so who would know.”

I inch my neck to the right until I feel the warmth on my cheek from the blood beneath me. And I let my head rest in this puddle of despair.

There are shards of glass around me that are now glistening from splattered blood, and wide eyed cold bodies that were wide eyed even before they died. Their still expressions hold more emotion and pain than I ever could.

How lucky are the fallen? Incredibly lucky. I’m sure they weren’t even aware of it. How lucky they were to feel pain, to be able to scream and cry with a deafening sound. They all begged, and pleaded for their life. They would dig their nails into my skin and look straight into my eyes, just looking for an ounce of compassion. And that only made me more motivated to take their life. Sometimes I would hold them for a little bit, just let them cry before the last plunge of my knife. And each person seemed to find knowing that they’re going to die, more torturous than actually feeling my dull blade rip into their body.

I move my head back to the left facing the real owner of this blood beneath me. His eyes are open, just staring into mine. I reach over with my right arm and slide my fingers across his cheek. Then I try to copy his emotion, I widen my eyes and furrow my eyebrows. While keeping this expression, I move my hand away from his cheek and grab a tiny shard of glass. I look into it, peering at my reflection. There’s something missing, something I’m not getting. Then I start to angle the shard towards different directions and I am able to see the many landscapes of my face. I am scarred and bruised, most self inflicted and some are from people trying to defend themselves. I have a moment of realization and purposely squeeze the shard of glass between my thumb and my pointer finger.

“Can you feel this?” I whisper to myself.

“When will you feel this?” I whisper again.

I squeeze the shard hard enough between two of my fingers that I actually start to draw blood. It drips on my face and in that second I felt relieved because it was as if that drop of blood was a tear. So I repeat the action but soon the feeling is gone. Now it’s just blood dripping on my face. I throw the shard of glass hearing it fall in the distance and lay my hands at my sides. I take a deep breath in and count to five.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5.”

...

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