This is a short story I wrote for school. Please post criticism and comments. Thanks!
Remember
The long arms of the rusted clock ticked heavily on the rust-coloured wall. Awards and degrees were glued with pretention around the room, all clad in rusted frames. He sat directly across from me, notebook in hand, looking at me with dissecting eyes.
“Let us begin.”
The leather was cold. The air was chilled. I shivered.
“How are you today, Miss Grey?”
I was numbed with agony. I was shaking with fear. I felt cold.
“I feel fine.”
“Can you tell me what happened that night?”
I gasped for air. As my breathing became shallow, his became deep. With his bestial face next to mine, I could taste the alcohol in his sweat as it slowly dripped into my mouth. I could taste his hunger. I could taste his lust. I squirmed under his tight grasp, trying to escape. But with every attempt, his claws sunk deeper. Sharp nails dug through my skin. They dug through my innocence. I felt cold.
“No. I can’t remember a thing.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
His icy eyes burned my pupils. They were blue, like mine. His gaunt face was twitching and quivering like the face of a rabid animal. It was almost as if he was trying to suppress his diseased hunger. His hair blended seamlessly into the darkness, as if it were one with the black abyss. Yet, despite the shadows, I could still see those frozen eyes glistening in the moonlight. Those cold, cold eyes. The eyes of a man who once knew love, but who now preaches indifference. His bushy mustache was drenched in perspiration. The wrinkled craters of his face were injected with sweat. As his aged body rocked back and forth, I could sense his fear. I could sense his hunger. I could sense his lust. I felt cold.
“No. I can’t remember. I never saw.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
My sweet angel. His lips murmured the same phrase again and again as he tore away at my purity. My sweet angel. My sweet, sweet angel. I felt cold.
“No. I don’t remember. I can’t remember.”
I noticed a man standing at the door. The man looked at me with frozen eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Grey.”
“Hello, Doctor.” He turned to me. “Are you ready to go, my sweet angel?”
I felt cold.
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