Stafos
10-27-2008, 07:50 PM
I wrote this about a dream I had a few nights in a row, scared the living hell out of me. I wrote this a few months ago, and once again constructive criticism is encouraged. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!
The Bitter Cold
He stood there, on the cliffs edge, watching the ocean churn, to and fro. It seemed almost of a mechanical nature, backwards and forwards, this way and that. If not mechanical, it was surely hypnotizing at least. He took a deep breath, as he watched the ocean, through the mist in the cool of the night. "Full moon tonight," he whispered to himself.
Truth be told, he had no idea why he was here or even why he was outside near the cliffs this late at night. Earlier he had thought it would be a nice day to go for a walk, though the day seemed so far behind him now. It had gone by so fast it had seemed almost as if it had never even happened at all.
As he stood, and watched the ocean, he thought to himself how secluded it was out here, by the cliffs. Not a single person in sight, neither left nor right. Behind him was a dirt road. The road that lead into town. Not much chance of anyone sneaking up on him from a dirt road he reckoned.
Standing there it was cold, really cold, icy cold. He could almost make out his breath in front of him if not for the darkness. He didn't have a jacket on, but then he didn't expect the air to turn icy as it had. Breathing in the cool night air felt quite refreshing. He breathed in deeply through his nose, the smell of salt water flooding into his nostrils, soothing, it made him feel . . . relaxed.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. There was no mistaking the sound of footsteps, especially out here. He turned around, too see her . . . . She was a friend of his, they met some years ago. Lately things in their relationship had changed, for better or worse it was happening. No sense in denying it.
Slowly he turned back 'round. To watch the ocean a little more. Waiting for her to walk to him. She put her arms around his shoulders past his neck and onto his chest and stood there a moment. For a long while, they stood silent. The only sound was that of the ocean, churning, to and fro. "mmm" she groaned in his ear as she lifted one hand closer to his shoulder.
Truth be told he hadn't noticed the knife. Though . . . now it seemed painfully obvious with the cold iron held up to his throat. The knife itself was a marvelous piece of craftsmanship, he had owned it for several years. It was a long German bayonet, with a groove on either side of it to help the blood of its victims flow faster.
His last thoughts were wondering if she would actually kill him. If she could really betray his, trust so easily and murder him out of cold blood. The answer to that came soon enough as she angled the blade one way, and she began to apply pressure then slowly, ever so slowly pull the blade across his throat. Blood flowing out of his neck and onto the rocky cliff top. He was nothing more than a corpse now.
She stood looming over his corpse. Knife held firmly in hand, drenched in blood. Drip, drip, dripping rythmatically onto the ground. She held out her hand, angled the blade over her palm, and slowly let his blood pool in the palm of her hand, and drip down her forearm, licking blood off the blade. She had used his own knife to kill him, she had done that purposefully. To her it symbolized freedom. It wasn't hard, to earn his trust, after that it was just a matter of killing him.
After the knife had dried up, she placed it next to the head of the corpse in the pool of blood that had formed. She looked him over one last time. Wondering if what she had done was a mistake. No. She had done the right thing, she was sure of that at least. Slowly she turned around, and walked away. Laughing, laughing out loud at how foolish he had been to trust her so easily.
Now all that was left was a bloody corpse, sitting in a pool of blood, face down near the cliff, in the dead of night, in the fog. Only in the last moments before he died did he realize that all he had truly known was nothing.
The Bitter Cold
He stood there, on the cliffs edge, watching the ocean churn, to and fro. It seemed almost of a mechanical nature, backwards and forwards, this way and that. If not mechanical, it was surely hypnotizing at least. He took a deep breath, as he watched the ocean, through the mist in the cool of the night. "Full moon tonight," he whispered to himself.
Truth be told, he had no idea why he was here or even why he was outside near the cliffs this late at night. Earlier he had thought it would be a nice day to go for a walk, though the day seemed so far behind him now. It had gone by so fast it had seemed almost as if it had never even happened at all.
As he stood, and watched the ocean, he thought to himself how secluded it was out here, by the cliffs. Not a single person in sight, neither left nor right. Behind him was a dirt road. The road that lead into town. Not much chance of anyone sneaking up on him from a dirt road he reckoned.
Standing there it was cold, really cold, icy cold. He could almost make out his breath in front of him if not for the darkness. He didn't have a jacket on, but then he didn't expect the air to turn icy as it had. Breathing in the cool night air felt quite refreshing. He breathed in deeply through his nose, the smell of salt water flooding into his nostrils, soothing, it made him feel . . . relaxed.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. There was no mistaking the sound of footsteps, especially out here. He turned around, too see her . . . . She was a friend of his, they met some years ago. Lately things in their relationship had changed, for better or worse it was happening. No sense in denying it.
Slowly he turned back 'round. To watch the ocean a little more. Waiting for her to walk to him. She put her arms around his shoulders past his neck and onto his chest and stood there a moment. For a long while, they stood silent. The only sound was that of the ocean, churning, to and fro. "mmm" she groaned in his ear as she lifted one hand closer to his shoulder.
Truth be told he hadn't noticed the knife. Though . . . now it seemed painfully obvious with the cold iron held up to his throat. The knife itself was a marvelous piece of craftsmanship, he had owned it for several years. It was a long German bayonet, with a groove on either side of it to help the blood of its victims flow faster.
His last thoughts were wondering if she would actually kill him. If she could really betray his, trust so easily and murder him out of cold blood. The answer to that came soon enough as she angled the blade one way, and she began to apply pressure then slowly, ever so slowly pull the blade across his throat. Blood flowing out of his neck and onto the rocky cliff top. He was nothing more than a corpse now.
She stood looming over his corpse. Knife held firmly in hand, drenched in blood. Drip, drip, dripping rythmatically onto the ground. She held out her hand, angled the blade over her palm, and slowly let his blood pool in the palm of her hand, and drip down her forearm, licking blood off the blade. She had used his own knife to kill him, she had done that purposefully. To her it symbolized freedom. It wasn't hard, to earn his trust, after that it was just a matter of killing him.
After the knife had dried up, she placed it next to the head of the corpse in the pool of blood that had formed. She looked him over one last time. Wondering if what she had done was a mistake. No. She had done the right thing, she was sure of that at least. Slowly she turned around, and walked away. Laughing, laughing out loud at how foolish he had been to trust her so easily.
Now all that was left was a bloody corpse, sitting in a pool of blood, face down near the cliff, in the dead of night, in the fog. Only in the last moments before he died did he realize that all he had truly known was nothing.