Omg I wrote this based on our AWESOME drama skit today! It was a silent mime play that we had to create around dreams we imagined playing music.
During the skit the music was playing, and we did it slow, almost slow-motion. It was so cool, we filmed it and watched over and over. XD.
Anywho, here's the short story I did based on it!
Forever
Turning… slowly… such simplicity and calm coming from the moment of grace and childhood play. The grass tickling her feet and the flowers swaying with their sunny faces, they helped the gentle mood of carefree spinning.
Her soft, pink face turned up her red lips in a grin, a smile so beautiful and peaceful it made the world sing. She was untouched. She was happy. Just a girl.
She continued to turn, arms outstretched and body moving in such a way that her frilly white dress swished. Her brown locks bounced and flew in the breeze, highlighted by the bright red hair bow on the top of her brunette head.
But as the world and the happy surroundings slowed, to a point where they almost stopped, a pair of arms were wrapped around her shoulders and she was pulled into darkness.
Pictures flashed briefly within her mind. Pictures of a woman in black, her eyes highlighted and dripping with harsh black mascara that stained her white cheeks and bright red lips. As the woman reached out, she dropped to her knees and her surroundings vanished.
As her chocolate-brown eyes opened, a harsh and hot but dim, unseeing light blared down upon her face. Her face, with a look of terror and confusion and madness, while the ropes were wrapped tighter and tighter over her chest and waist.
There were footsteps, slow, steady, heavy footsteps, going around the chair and making the ropes more secure over her. When they stopped, her hands were bound together tight, so she couldn’t even reach forward to push the hair away from her bone-white, curtained face.
Realizing there seemed no escape, she tried to scream. A painful choke ripped through her throat, desperate to escape and sound her plea, but it was suddenly silenced by a gagging cloth that closed her lips.
And so, as the footsteps died, she was left in the dark. Highlighted only by a small light, she listened desperately to see if someone was coming to save her. Over and over, as she rocked back and forward on her hard chair, she tried to scream. But they were only agonizing gags in her throat, not able to escape from her sealed mouth.
The two girls stroked each others’ hair, smiling to each other like friends while they spoke.
But it was not each other that interrupted their happy and content thoughts, but a thumping, banging and screaming that erupted from the doorway.
A young girl, her hair wild, face traumatized, and eyes terrified and pained. She was shaking violently, throwing her head back and screaming. She pressed her bloodied hands against the glass door and dropped to her knees, repeatedly thumping and bashing the surface with her fists.
One girl got to her feet and slowly opened the door to ask the little girl was wrong, but before she could ask of anything she had thrown her little arms around her waist. The strange girl buried her face into her holder’s chest, wordlessly screaming over and over.
The concerned girls sat her down on a spare seat, tightening their comforting grasp around her, asking what was wrong.
But she couldn’t get her words out, and just sat there, shaking savagely and staring without eyes at her company.
And as she was just beginning to calm herself, her vision vanished and the girls were gone. For a brief, silent, blinding second, she was surrounded by suffocating blackness.
She was seated on the dark, spotlighted chair once again.
The hot, strong arm crept over her shoulder, and the blade held in the hand glinted in the light. She held her breath as it became physically impossible to speak from terror, the silver knife touching her neck and resting there.
It was over. Of course it was.
But just as she silently mouthed her last prayers, anticipating death with a still, already-dead body, something touched her. An icy, soft hand came into contact with hers, the fingers entwining into her own and holding their grasp. A bodiless, comforting grasp.
That comfort seemed to dampen her worry and numb the pain, as the knife pressed down and silenced her forever.
Then she was in a happy place. Finally home at last.
The cold hand still attached to hers, but with a body. The beautiful, mascara stained face looked down at her with a smile, letting her know all was well.
Forever.