Ok, so basically, I have a bunch of friends who love writing and send their writing to various group chats we have (one also posted hers online – https://www.novelmysillylife.wordpress.com ) but I also have some friends who don’t read said writing (I’m semi-guilty of this; I have a habit of getting myself hyped up about a piece of writing then never actually finishing it) – but you see, these said friends get feedback (anyone on a certain group chat would know who I’m talking about), and I feel selfish for saying this, but I don’t. I read my writing to my parents, only for my mom to care beyond the point of saying ‘it’s good’. My dad pretty much says two words and walks out, and my English teachers basically say this:
It’s good and well-written, but…
proceeds to list 2948329 flaws in my writing
(OK, I did get an O (see my grades post to see what I am talking about) but that’s beside the point)
So I’m putting a few of my pieces on here in hope that people will read them and appreciate them. And please leave some feedback in the comments 🙂
WARNING – Some offensive language used
Red and Grey
Screams filled the air as blazing balls of fire exploded on the already tarnished field. Bodies littered the dying grass as green turned to a deep, dry red. The only survivors were left adorned in shapeless rags; soil and dirt covering the rest. Hair was matted and greasy, eyes were worn and dead, skin was bleeding and blistered. Groans echoed through the ears of the people that were lucky enough to survive the blast as incomplete people rummaged for their body parts. Nobody batted an eye at the portion of humanity obliterated and scarred. Broken souls and incurable hurt sat in the faded grey eyes of Skylar Ellis as her scrawny legs barely held her figure up over the rotting corpses vanishing into the forgotten history just a few centimetres below her. Her olive skin was scarred red; lines littered her legs and arms as she held a knife cluelessly in one hand, the other one clenched into a sheepishly determined fist. She scanned the battlefield, her slowly beating heart aching for a soul to scoop her up and remove her from the scenario she considered a delusion. Her eyes shifted from expressionless orbs to balls of souls resting above her nose. Black hair touched her back as she paid no attention to the concernedly close resemblance to a ball of frizz it had become. Her mouth was forcedly pushed into a slightly intimidating line although the lip was trembling ever so slightly. She shoved all the desperation deep into the unexplorable depths of her mind as she desperately tried to find someone to help her. A sash hung from her bony shoulders, the word ‘LEADER’ faded in blue sharpie. She surveyed the dead bodies once more, her people, lifeless and rotting before her. Nevertheless, she swallowed hard and strode towards the man, sitting triumphantly on a bench, examining the bodies of Skylar’s people. Skylar began to speak, hiding all emotion in her voice behind a mask of cold, heartless tones.
‘Are you happy now? Are you happy you got to keep your silly little rule?’ A single tear rolled down Skylar’s cheek as she glanced at the decomposing carcass of a baby; her own baby brother. He was only a month or two shy of his first birthday, now he only remains a distant memory in Skylar’s flooded mind. She sniffed and turned back to the man, more and more tears rolling down her scarred, dirty face. Much to Skylar’s surprise and scepticism, the man’s face generated a warm, kind-hearted smile which only just got a little too deep in Skylar’s isolated soul.
‘It’s alright. You’ve been stellar, and I’m proud of you. But that’s enough. You never could have won against me, and it was cruel of the Gods to send someone like you to attempt to put a knife to my chest’, More and more tears streamed down Skylar’s face as her breathing became heavier.
‘You killed my family. And now, you pay. The Gods didn’t send me. I did.’
The man’s face blanched instantly as he suddenly paralysed himself in fear. Skylar’s eyes flashed red as she penetrated the knife deep into the man’s chest. Lightning lit up the field and thunder echoed through the ears of the few rivals left standing. Skylar’s face remained emotionless as her mouth firmly stayed in a straight line.
Red and grey. Her eyes flashed red and grey.
Red and grey.
Red and grey. That’s what you’ll see next. If you dare lift a finger towards my family. Red and grey.
She was always alone. Everyone stayed far away from her. The kids would veer past her as their anxiety controlled their conscience. The adults would give her disapproving looks as she stared shamefully at the ground. Animals? When she was with animals, her soul would shine into rays of kindness. No other was like her. One of the most caring and gentle souls I had ever met was rejected by society. Nothing was wrong with her. She had no idea of the supernatural. She had no idea what demons were. She just lived her life, alone, seeking love from anything around her. She would always look like she was begging for a hug. She would hold her shoulders to comfort herself from the fear society had placed in her eyes.
I could see there was soul behind the emeralds in her eye sockets. A beautiful one. The colour of wistful air, the texture of a warm feeling. She just wanted nothing more than affection. She would slink away from anyone who looked remotely dangerous, and who can blame her? She was always alone, never seen with her parents. When someone asked her, she would just reply with ‘they’re in the bathroom’, or some shallowly believable tale. She would sit alone and hold her knees, sobbing into them for hours. And to receive what? Menacingly curious stares and tuts. She was such an innocent girl, plagued by the worst of all worlds. No matter what, she always put a brave face on and convince others of her lie. She would wreck her mind so much just so she knows others don’t have to feel the pain. Every day I walked past her and felt pushed to be just like her. Her angelic voice replaced my conscience. Whenever she would come into my youth group, I would always feed her copiously, knowing full well that may be one of the only meals she gets for the day (or week if you want to push it).
And then it happened.
I saw it.
After the youth group closed for the night, I saw her cross the street. The light was red. The man was green. There were no cars. It was safe. I saw her precious feet jog across the tarmac, my heart breaking with every step she took. Suddenly, I remember seeing a bright red sports car fly from oblivion and tear down the road. I saw her get mowed down by the car. I remember taking her to the hospital, staying with her because nobody else would. Not even the nurses.
But I saw something.
I saw a person behind the eyes. I saw a soul that could easily be a world leader.
But I also saw something else.
I saw fear. I saw rejection and hurt in her crystal eyes. I saw innocence wounded by the very people meant to nurture her.
I stayed with her for days, refusing to leave her. I knew that if I left her, she would die alone and I simply couldn’t let that happen. A six-year old shouldn’t have to go through that. If they die, they should be surrounded by weeping parents and grieving friends. Not alone with only her conscience to keep her sane. I would talk to her; tell her about all the animals she would meet in heaven. I told her that I would meet her eventually. Anything to keep her soul uplifted, I would spew out of my mouth just so she wouldn’t have to go through more pain after all she’s been through.
Then it happened.
Dying, she gave her last little smile to the world that has been so unkind.
And that was it.
The monitor beeped as I stared at it, numb. Tears streamed down my face as I held her small, cold hand, rubbing my fingers over hers. I looked out the window and opened it.
‘Why? Why did you have to do this?’
I sat next to the bed as her lifeless body lay. I gave her a hug, her cold body stabbing into my heart like a knife. I kissed her ice cold cheek and walked out, still numb all over.
‘The world will never be the same without you, Holly’.
Maia Abbot stood with her arms folded at the front door, her keys hanging loosely from her belt. Her mom stood before her, her hands clasped in a plea. Maia looked scornfully at her mom with defiance as her mom knelt in front of her, tears streaming down her face. Maia’s angry teenage brain made her open the door and saunter down the street, disregarding her mom’s distress. Her conscience was still divided; one part yelling at her to go and get an adrenalin rush, the other was trying to throw her into the realm of reason and warn her about the dangers of this place.
After all, this wasn’t your regular haunted house.
This is the end house. No creepy name, just end. The house is infamous for claiming thousands of lives, snatching them in its icy grip. Many have passed the no turn point and met their fate. Not from a typical scary, bloody murder, but because they were so undeniably and so overwhelmingly terrified that their adrenalin turned against them and released itself in such a high and toxic amount as to kill them. Maia had heard things about the house from her friends that lived on that same street. They always warned her never to go as they consistently heard blood-curdling screams that were loud and high-pitched enough to shatter a heart in seconds, but Maia always vowed to visit and be the first to win.
The cash prize for reaching the sixth room was $1,000,000 and an iPhone X. Maia wasn’t from a particularly rich household, so something like this would be life-changing at the least.
She had to win. There was no way she couldn’t. After all, she was the fearless badass, why would she cower from something like this?
She reached the house, which had no creepy décor outside, just two glowing balls staring at her from the third floor window. It looked fairly modern, the paint laid in stripes to create a wood effect, and none of the windows looked broken or even remotely stained. She looked at it in smug contemplation as she braced herself. She pushed the door slightly as it swung open violently and slammed against the wall. She saw a front desk, the lobby dimly lit, only one glowing lamp hanging limp from the wall. Standing behind the front desk was a man, two glowing balls staring a hole into her soul. Maia backed away from him in suspicion as he stared blankly into the distance. When she approached the first door, the number ‘1’ carved effortlessly and splashed with paint the colour of dried blood (that’s what Maia thought, anyway), the man whipped his head around instantly and hissed, a snake tongue flapping out of his mouth. Maia furrowed her brows; this wasn’t even remotely close to the mental scars she saw back when they lived in Tanzania, Maia’s birthplace and home for the first 5 years of her life. She pushed open the door as it made a loud creak, to hear ominous organ music and candles scattered around the room. She laughed as she cruised through the room, her brain still questioning itself. The candles weren’t even real flames, just electronic tea-lights you buy from the dollar store. Maia snickered. This was easy, but this was only level 1. She shrugged at her impending terror and pushed open the only other door she could find, this time with the number ‘2’ in the same ‘paint’ as ‘1’. Like the entrance door, it slammed against the wall violently and the head of a small girl, around 5 or 6, shot up and glared at Maia. Two ice-blonde pigtails hung from her round head as red cream was smeared under her eyes foolishly. Maia stepped around the girl as she grabbed onto her hand, so fierce it could cut off circulation. Maia slowly reached for the girl’s boiling hot arm and tried to move it, only to have the girl growl so deep that it had to be a man in disguise.
‘It is your end now’, Maia laughed as the girl’s grip got tighter. She managed to wrestle the girl’s grip away, but the girl still stood in the middle of the room, her glowing eyes yet again burning a hole in Maia’s soul. Maia got a slight shudder but merely brushed it off just like she did the first room. She opened the next door, this time a ‘3’ engraved. The girl stared at Maia as she opened the door. A faint whisper came from her mouth, this time high-pitched and innocent.
‘I wouldn’t go in there if I was you’.
The door slammed behind Maia, this time she was faced with a tall woman, her height causing her to bend over so her face was inches away from Maia’s. It was thin and pinched, the skin sat above the bones, contorting itself to form thin, long cheeks. Maia’s heart began to race as the woman stood before her. Maia ducked under her head and approached the door, still very much aware that the demon was fixed on her trembling figure. She put her hand on the knob, hoping the demon would leave her alone, but almost jumped through the roof when it spoke.
‘Don’t you DARE’, The voice was deep and sounded slightly robotic. Maia’s hand flew off the knob in surprise and she managed to shove her body through the door with what little courage she had left.
She desperately tried to erase the memory of the creature, only to be faced with a table and a chainsaw. She furrowed her brows in suspicion as she etched closer to the door, only to have the chainsaw fly off the table, plug and all, and position itself mere nanometres away from her neck. The revving engine sound pierced Maia’s eardrums as she cowered in terror, sweating bullets. She managed to grab hold of the next door knob, only to see a blood-written message on the wall.
This is the no-turn point. Escape with $1,000,000 or die.
Maia gulped as she flung herself into the next room. The last room. She breathed a sigh of relief as a woman with bleeding black eyes sat before her. She raised her head slowly and Maia gasped as blood ran down her face. The woman simply stared at her. Maia started walking towards the last door, the number ‘6’ placed in the middle of a large gold star. Maia’s chest puffed in triumph, thinking how happy her mom would be when she came back with $1,000,000. Her hand was placed on the doorknob, when the woman shot up from her chair and inches away from Maia’s face, the spittle finding its way onto Maia’s cheeks. She was yelling something, but she was hissing. Maia tried to find a link to any language, while this woman was still hissing in her face, her mouth opening into a large void. Tears streamed down Maia’s face as her stomach churned and her head rushed for her to open the next door. Finally, the woman started to speak English, something Maia could understand.
‘Blasphemy! Sheer blasphemy!’ Maia shrunk into herself upon the words drifting into her ears. She always had an obsession with the paranormal, and back in Tanzania, she was ridiculed mercilessly for not being a bible thumper like the rest of her village. Those words were the very ones to trigger Maia’s suicidal thoughts and depression. She hid in the corner, shaking, while the woman was still screaming bible phrases into her ears, her eyes running with blood. Maia’s adrenalin finally turned against her, causing Maia’s heart to race to unreasonable levels. She felt it. She was going to die.
And so she did. Her eyes shut and she immediately started turning grey. Yet, her mouth opened, and a snake tongue emerged. The woman grabbed her hand and saw the tongue, only to smirk. She poked her head into the sixth room, to see a tall, faceless man standing in front of a table with an iPhone X and hundreds of cash bills perched on top of it. The wall was covered, almost made, in bones. Skulls and leg bones surrounded the walls as the woman spoke and tossed Maia’s body in.
‘Put the bones up, but keep the body. She’s one of us now’, The man cocked his head to one side.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Did I stutter?’
‘Fine, Mrs Abbot. Are you sure you want to do this to your daughter’s remains?’
‘I never loved her anyway’.
My eyes have never even fleeted across an image like this, never mind a real life person who dares to exist as I write this. It’s always been a flashy spectrum every time one’s eyes dart to hair colour. Before the wave, we all had normal hair and normal lives. And a part of me aches to believe that we still do; clinging onto the normalities we still possessed before the wave. Tears fill my eyes when I remember our skin ranging from an almost artificial white to a deep, rich brown. And when our hair was icy blonde, nutty brown or existential black. Now we’re all the ‘standard’ sickly white as life is drained every second. Our eyes are now just a shallow grey, the remnants of souls being cracked and frayed as the hours drawl on. But our new hair? Electric colours somewhat brighten up the lifeless sky and monotone voices contaminating the air that was once at peace. We got given new, unchangeable hair colours at random; each one representing a type of kinesis. Most are green and electric yellow, telekinesis and photokinesis. On occasion, some elemental kinesis people are seen roaming the streets; bright fiery red for cryokinesis, muted grey for aerokinesis, rustic brown for geokinesis, deep royal blue for hydrokinesis and icy, piercing blue for pyrokinesis. When the hair is even different than that? That’s when it gets fun. I think many in our society today secretly feel at least an ounce of joy and curiosity when the hair becomes purple and pink. Purple signifies magnokinesis whilst pink means electrokinesis. Even rarer than that is gyrokinesis, represented by a spark of bright orange. Those are the only hair colours we had after the wave.
At least, that’s what pretty much all of society thought, including me.
Until I saw her.
I take a part-time job as a mental institution guard. Making sure the nutcracks don’t escape. I have to put a forcefield around the damn institution, because not even the head of the place knows what crackshittery they’re capable of. I was doing my regular job; patrolling the hallways and peering into the unoccupied cells, constantly thanking myself that I wasn’t infected by the wave. I was walking past the cells, admiring and noting all the hair colours popping out at me, then I stopped. A girl was sitting in one of the very last cells on that floor, her legs contorted into an X. Her eyes were on the brink of becoming violet as her white hair drooped over her shoulders. A large ‘DO NOT ENGAGE’ sign was hung on the only nail lazily hammered into one of the bars. She was silent; yet her piercing eyes said thousands of indescribable words. I crouched in front of the cell, ignoring the sign that was practically screaming at me.
‘They told you not to talk to me’, The girl’s voice was bland, yet unsettlingly high and slightly commanding. ‘They flinch when they see me. Because they know I started it’.
‘Started what?’ I used every ounce of courage left to compose the words, my brain becoming increasingly concerned as the seconds ticked by.
‘You know damn well what’, I gulped. I had a faint inkling, but surely someone so small couldn’t be capable of starting something like this.
‘You know your hair changing colour?’
‘You know the eyes changing colour?’
‘You know the wave?’
‘That was me’.
‘Oh shit. We’re all going to die’.
I’m trying to experiment with my style but these are my favourite ‘new’ pieces because tbh my pre-2018 pieces shouldn’t even be on my computer. By the way, I never edit my work, I just write everything in one go and save it, which apparently is quite unusual. So, if there are some legitimate (i.e. grammar, spelling, punctuation etc) errors, feel free to tell me because I just edit as I write so yea 🙂
Also check out my friend’s book!