SOTC: Cold Soul by Trevor Moran
• You already know, I can see the coldness inside your soul •
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Run. Run away.
No words came out of my mouth, but that's what my thoughts kept repeating over and over like a broken record player.
I dove into the smoky grayness of the woods. Something was on my tail, I didn't know what. Blood coated my hands, pouring off in stringy globs onto the pine straw.
High pitched-ringing overtook my ears, and I could barely hear my heartbeat echoing off the trees.
Thump. Thump. Footsteps behind me. Run. Run away.
Tree roots whizzing by my feet. Steam pouring out of my mouth like it was filled with dry ice. It felt that way, everything was sticky and painful.
My shoulder ached as if somebody had dropped a truck onto it. Pain, so much pain. I gritted my teeth and tried to clutch it, but everything slipped through my fingers.
Nothing there.
Keep going. Run. Run away.
Breathing down my neck. Leaves crunching on the ground. Goose bumps creeping up my arm like a child clawing for attention.
Run. Run away. Run. Run away.
It was behind me. It was grappling at my jacket, and when it finally caught hold, I let it fall into its claws. My arms felt the cold strangle them with a hard squeeze of retribution.
I choked on the air. It curdled my stomach but I kept breathing.
Run. Run away. Keep going...
My legs won't stop moving. Thump. Thump. It's my footsteps this time.
I've lost it to the distances of the forest. It's given up and decided to take my jacket instead.
Don't look behind you. It might still be there.
My thoughts began a jumble of abstract anger and fear. Run. Run away. It's behind you.
It's gone but it's not.
I came to a grinding halt.
Guts spilling out of my stomach. All of it brown and crusty, rotted. The pain stabbed me so hard that I was knocked off balance. I fell onto the forest floor.
Blood. And guts.
You can't run away, runaway.
The churning lurch of my abdomen as I careened to the side. This is a dream, why does it feel so real?
Is this not a dream?
Just a dream. You're okay.
You're dead. You're a walker. You're alone, and you're a monster.
Monster. My mind switched vinyls and began to play that. Monster. You're a monster, Keira.
My shoulder burned. Somebody lit it on fire. That was whatever was chasing me? No, that was me.
Swollen aches and biting pains.
The dirt clung onto my scrapes on my knees. Encrusting the scabs on my heels. I tried to stand but I couldn't. My fingertips were raw, covered with blood as if they'd been pressed into stamp pads.
Monster. You're a monster.
Can't run away, runaway.
•••
I was crying when I sat up in bed. I pried my eyes open. Reality closed in on me, livid orange swirling over my vision.
I looked at my fingertips. Bloody. Half-moons where my nails had dug into the bottoms of my palms.
Red swathed around my covers. Scratches on my arms, as if I had rummaged through a rosebush.
With a shudder, I realized those were made by me.
The aches remained in my left shoulder. I peeled back my crimson shirt, craning my neck over to look over at the carnage. Then I put it back down immediately.
You're dreaming! Not real!
The tears flowed faster. I shoved my face into my palms. It's not real! I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could feel the pain too violently.
It was real.
The bite had traveled from my shoulder to my chest, back and left leg. Smudged bruises and aches clouded my skin, falling down to my elbow. In a matter of days, it would be visible on my hands.
Not even one week away from the end of my three week countdown, and I was already decomposing on the inside.
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A/N: Super short but... Wow
Ah yes. Finally, this story is on its way to the good part.
Comment what you thought 😉
I wanted to get something up this afternoon, that's part of the reason why it's so short. But it probably would have been short anyway haha
QOTD: Song recommendations?
AOTD:
•Gasoline by Halsey
•Coming Down by Halsey
•Pity Party by Melanie Martinez
•Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling and Lzzy Hale
•Colors by Halsey
•Stressed Out by TØP
•Sail by AWOLNATION
•Twin Skeletons by FOB
•for him. by Troye Sivan
•Happy Little Pill by Troye Sivan
RQOTD: "Art, like mortality, consists in drawing the line somewhere." -Gilbert K. Chesterton
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Word count:
793
Created 2-13-16
Edited 3-7-16
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BITE ME ➼ C. G. 〖 #wattys2016 〗
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