DraketheFallen
08-17-2007, 07:13 PM
Stories were always a dream of mine to share. I could always sit back, relax and let my voice carry the words of each story onto the ears of children. Let their imaginations carry them forth into what is and always will be their own fairy tale. O shall it be that this story be one to tell to every child upon this Earth. It is this kind of story that keeps their eyes on the shadows and their hearts in fear.
As the dearest little child lay in his bed, he could not help but peer into the darkness that was his own room. Each time he awoke there was a different sound that disturbed him and let his heart leap from his chest in fear. Each time his eyes opened the shadows wove images of demons and monsters whom hungered for his very being!
Every night he lay awake and every day he tried his hardest to keep his little eyes open. One night he could barely keep his eyes open and so for once he told himself that he would be fine. How would this be any different from any other night? And so he slept. He slept all night and come morning he still did not wake. His mother pushed him and shoved him and called out his name. But the poor little boy had stayed awake too long and now slept through the day.
This boy though, as he slumbered, was stuck in a dream. He sat in this room with dull white paint that chipped and that cracked. He stared at the screen that held static. For what seemed like days he stayed in this room looking for the door, unfortunately there was none and he was stuck in this room. It was within this room that the boy began to cry.
[Yes dear child, cry, cry until your eyes bleed and your soul tastes ever so sweet.]
The voice echoed throughout the room and the little boy became scared. He wanted to wake up. He cried out for his mother, screamed her name as loud as he could. He punched, kicked and screamed out in an uncontrolled tantrum. Finally, he looked to the screen that held static.
He stared at the screen for several seconds until he screamed. He punched, kicked, and screamed out at the screen until his knuckles bled, his feet hurt, and his voice cracked. With the static filled screen smeared with blood the boy gave up. He fell to the floor and did nothing but stare upon the blood that was upon the screen.
"The poor boy..."
"Poor boy? Its his mother I feel sorry for..."
"Why? Is she distraught?"
"The child crushed her skull against the television screen."
As the dearest little child lay in his bed, he could not help but peer into the darkness that was his own room. Each time he awoke there was a different sound that disturbed him and let his heart leap from his chest in fear. Each time his eyes opened the shadows wove images of demons and monsters whom hungered for his very being!
Every night he lay awake and every day he tried his hardest to keep his little eyes open. One night he could barely keep his eyes open and so for once he told himself that he would be fine. How would this be any different from any other night? And so he slept. He slept all night and come morning he still did not wake. His mother pushed him and shoved him and called out his name. But the poor little boy had stayed awake too long and now slept through the day.
This boy though, as he slumbered, was stuck in a dream. He sat in this room with dull white paint that chipped and that cracked. He stared at the screen that held static. For what seemed like days he stayed in this room looking for the door, unfortunately there was none and he was stuck in this room. It was within this room that the boy began to cry.
[Yes dear child, cry, cry until your eyes bleed and your soul tastes ever so sweet.]
The voice echoed throughout the room and the little boy became scared. He wanted to wake up. He cried out for his mother, screamed her name as loud as he could. He punched, kicked and screamed out in an uncontrolled tantrum. Finally, he looked to the screen that held static.
He stared at the screen for several seconds until he screamed. He punched, kicked, and screamed out at the screen until his knuckles bled, his feet hurt, and his voice cracked. With the static filled screen smeared with blood the boy gave up. He fell to the floor and did nothing but stare upon the blood that was upon the screen.
"The poor boy..."
"Poor boy? Its his mother I feel sorry for..."
"Why? Is she distraught?"
"The child crushed her skull against the television screen."