Story - Original Writing

Story - Original Writing

He lay there, like the devil upon his very own torture rack. Scared

and confused, unaware of what evil may be unleashed on to him .Despite

being the one whose sinister hand, had hammered the nail of punishment

in to the hearts of others through this exact routine. He couldn’t

understand, how what he had created would bring him to his bloody

demise; for a short moment he had selfish regrets for what he’d done ,

but a quick thought about the pain he’d caused to the innocent,

vulnerable people, brought back his sadistic joy. Suddenly, a shrill

piercing sound shot into his ear like a wailing banshee, warning of

death.

Jenny awoke from her sleepless slumber and, although aching

throughout, managed to slowly put on her leather, chafing gown. She

walked slowly towards where her clock lay, and realised something

strangely disturbing. Her golden timepiece, carefully cherished for

reasons kept only to herself, was turned to face the brick wall,

covered in hideous yet intricately designed wallpaper. Jenny, being

her philosophical self, pondered over this fault, being up all night,

she knew she hadn’t altered the positioning of the clock, and as she

lived on her own, no resident of the house could have interfered. She

didn’t want to think about this matter any longer, and , too scared

even to touch the clock, Jenny just left it and began to walk down

her, sometimes mesmerizing spiral staircase. Each lift of her foot

followed with a creak as she descended the steps, she took another

step and felt a sharp stabbing pain in her left foot. Jenny slowly

looked down, and saw that she had stood on her beloved clock - stil...

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...abody still drove on. He stopped

the car in the middle of a road, got out and went up to the door of 45

ashdown street – opened it as if knowing it would be open and

uninhabited. He saw blood all over the carpet, and smeared along the

wall, his heart then stopped, he felt a pain as if being stabbed by

his perished sister. Daniel saw his mothers clock, on the staircase,

with glass shattered everywhere, and blood staining the gold. This to

him was the worst thing that could possibly happen, he walked over to

the clock, fell to his knees and cried “My mothers soul is now gone,

it is time for me to go with her.” He grasped the clock in both hands

and smashed it over his head, then bathed in the glass. “Marcus dean,

you are responsible for this, you led me to corruption, you made me

feel like I was to blame. And now, I am.”