Tag Archive: fear


Down The Pike


It is like my eyes are suddenly opened and I see them, a host of them, in numerous queues that seem to stretch on till eternity. All sorts of people are lines up; people of all ages are lined up – from the ancient olds to floating masses of what should be fetuses.
How many of these lines there are, I cannot say because I cannot count.
‘As vast as the sand on the seashore’ is the first thing that comes to mind.
‘There are about 7 billion people in the world’  think to myself. ‘Surely, all of them are here today!’

I look forward to see where they’re all heading to; or herded to. There are checkpoints at the start of each queue manned by being  I cannot properly explain so forgive me if my description of them comes off as vague. In fact, if it is possible for a thing to look vague, then these beings are vague.
They wear dark cloaks, or maybe dark clouds as the cloaks seem to swirl like mists if you stare too long. They are hooded; the only visible parts, spindly black twigs knotted to form arms. In one hand of a being is holding what can be most aptly described as a huge scissors; although one cannot be so sure, seeing at these tools pulse with inner light, as if alive.

My eyes ache when I look at them so i return to study the host and that is when I  notice something truly odd. I blink to make sure I am not hallucinating. Slightly above each person is a floating string made of what I can simply describe as Light. Each Light is different in hue and my eyes widen in wonder at the numerous colours that have congregated over numerous heads; from the brightest of yellows that leave a lingering giddy feeling in my body to the darkest of blacks that make me look away, shuddering instinctively. Although  colours are similar, each string of Light is unique in a way I cannot put my hands on just yet.

Suddenly, I understand the function of the scissors held by the beings that man the checkpoints. I turn to watch them snip at these strings as each person is presented before them. Immediately a string is cut, the scissors absorbs the light, incandescent, so bright it dazzles the eyes that by the time you are able to see again, the person snipped is no longer there; replaced by another.
I watch in fascination as spindly fingers hold strings delicately between what would be a thumb and index finger of a human.
It takes me a whole minute to realise what is happening and my amazement is replaced with dismay…and fear.

“Death!” I cry out loud, turning back to the people queued, as if wanting to appeal to them to turn back. The ancient olds walk on, look of pure serenity on their faces. The disfigured and sick (obvious only by their skeletal bodies), trudge on, gratitude written on the harsh planes of their faces. There are the young;  healthy and smiling, oblivious. And then there are the scared, the afraid. They are aware of what is ahead. Their saucer-wide eyes, shimmering with tears; their lips trembling, as they try to stifle screams.
‘If all these people die, then who lives?’ I muse to myself and the answer comes to me just as quickly.
Some have been on these queues for years…for ages. They would not all die immediately.
While some know what lays ahead, a great deal do not and they would continue living unaware, until it is their turn to get their strings cut.

Hands push me forward and I turn back in surpr…
“No..no…no…nono” I murmur, my limbs suddenly losing their locomotive function.
I am on a queue.
I feel sweat bead on my forehead and armpits, and i break out in violent shivers.
I turn to the blank face behind me. “There has be..een a mistake” I stammer. “I do not belong here”
I am ignored and I try pushing my way out.
“Please, let me go. Please. I still have time. I don’t belong here. No. Please”
I choke on a sob, chest heaving as I am clamped into position by a mass of bodies.
I look ahead and my heart stops at the checkpoint that is just a few bodies away.
Tears streak down my face and my legs shake unable to bear my weight. I do not crumple to the ground, still carried onwards by the mass of bodies behind me.
I struggle!
I cry!
I scream!
I pray!
“God no…No please..not yet…still got a lot to do please No No” I mumble, terror settling in the pit of my stomach like an unborn fetus made of lead.

Soon, it is my turn and I stand before my executioner.
“There…has.. has been  mishtake..” I stutter, hiccuping. “It’s…n..not…ti..time. Pl..Please…”
Ignored, spindly arms hold my light and my teeth chatter as my eyes follows the path of the looming scissors.
At the first snap, my heart lurches as if being pulled forcefully out of my chest.
I open my mouth to scream.
The scissors glow green, so bright tha-

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I am reading Insomnia by Stephen King and I was inspired by his depiction of Auras and Bald Docs #1 #2 #3 (Read the book and you’d understand what I’m saying 😛 )
This piece crept into my mind subtly and evaded my faculties till i was so distracted, I had to stop reading to write it down on paper, before continuing with my book.
(And it is a good read so far, I’d recommend)

Hope you enjoyed and do comment thaaaanks!
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

Quarter Past 11


Hey!
I worked on a watercolour painting on Wednesday so today, decided to try writing a story based on the painting. Picture’s in B/W cos my paint strokes are terrible and they look better this way!
Enjoy!

Quarter Past 11

IMG_20130306_172704-1_Logan

She did not mean to stay out this late.

There had been wine, music, food; she had lost track of time. She had promised she’d be home before 11. It was quarter past 11!

Harried, she walked out into the rain, cursing as she rifled through her bag for her little umbrella. The rain in savage glee increased, mercilessly lashing at her for her tardiness, plastering her clothes to her skin as she finally found and opened her umbrella.

Shivering and with alacrity, she ran, deciding to use the shorter route home. Normally she’d have been wary of using the bush path at night but between her irrational fear of large expanse of trees and the thunderous rage that would be her father when she got home, she decided to let the Devil take the hindmost and leg it.

Thankful for the flat shoes she wore, she ran until she was swallowed in by the trees.

Despite the fact that she was late, she unconsciously slowed to a walk as she traversed the narrow path. Gently, as if the slightest breaking of a twig would unsettle the atmosphere, she crept through.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her ears cocked and she turned around to stare at the gathering darkness behind her. Her heart hit her ribcage hard, as if begging to be let out. Fear of he father forgotten, she began to wonder if taking this particular route wasn’t a foolhardy thing to do.

She walked faster, stopping momentarily to stare quickly behind her. She didn’t even have any light and her phone was dead.

Only the stay rays of the moonlight that managed to penetrate though the dense foliage lighted her path and they did so badly.

There!

She heard it again.

She stopped as her blood roared in her ears raging like lions in a burning cage.

Footsteps. She was not mistaken.

Basic instincts screamed at her and she obeyed without thinking; she ran.

Her hands shook as she held the umbrella, panting as her feet slapped wet earth with dull thwacks.

Almost out of the bushes, she laughed shakily in triumph and exhilaration.

She heard no footsteps. She stopped to take deep breaths. What if she had imagined the footsteps?

She laughed and shook her head, walking at a normal pace, her ears still listening for sudden movements.

As she walked, she realised how heavy her limbs were;  almost as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back.

She blamed it on her unfit body and mentally promised to run more.

“Who’rrree you?”

A small voice suddenly asked, close behind.

She shrieked and turned about panicked. She saw no one.

“Who…who’s there?” She called out, eyes wide as clammy hands tightened their grip on her umbrella.

“How ccccould yooou not noticccce?” The small voice whispered into her ear. “You’ve beeeeen carrying me on your baaaack sincccce you walked intoooo myyyy forrressst…”

A cold tongue licked her ear.

Blood curdling scream.


Happy Short story day Africa! In honor of today’s celebrations, I decided to try a challenge, I put my phone of shuffle and wrote flash fiction around the themes of the first four songs that played. (Scout’s honor, I didn’t cheat, lol). So here are the stories, 120 words or less.

Come Away With Me – Norah Jones

I’ll sit by the last stoop, and wait. I won’t mind the rain that trickles and turns my hair into droopy strings or the cold that makes my bones chatter, and wait. I’ll keep my eyes away from the beautiful horizon filled with grey clouds that glow and flash with lightning and keep my eyes on the muddy path, and wait. I’ll notice the shoes that splatters mud on the other travellers and then the pants, glued to beautiful legs by the rivulets of rain water, the outline of shoulders and your frantic eyes looking out for me, and I’ll smile. I will elope, with no one but you.

Love Will Tear Us Apart – Nerina Pallot.

Our bed holds no warmth, my pillow is soaked with tears. You sleep so soundly, I’m a little envious. How do you sleep through my crying every night? The baby’s sniffling in the other room but I can’t hear him. What have you done to me? What have you turned me into? I clutch my pillow over my face and sob. You stir and turn towards me, and then you sigh when you see me crying. You leave the bed and walk to the other room to comfort your child. Your child, because post-partum depression has robbed me of the joy of being a mother.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday – Paramore

They’re all running, left, right, jumping across the gutters away from the tarred road. I want to follow but my legs are too short. Mama always used to help me across but now I can’t find her. I start to run along the street, there’s a plank down the road that I can use to cross. I can hear sirens but I don’t know where its coming from. Where’s mama? Mama oh, where are you? Boom! Gun! Oh God! Mama? Mama? I’m almost at the plank. Thank God! I start crossing and stop when I see it. Not an it, a him, inside the gutter, bent over with blood all over his shirt. I scream!

There for you – Flyleaf

What is she doing here? How did this happen under our noses? The nurse leading us to the room whispers that we shouldn’t be afraid, everyone here is under the appropriate drugs, they won’t harm us. She looks so knowledgable in her white shift, not like our check pinafores that single us out as amateur nursing students. Still I can’t help shuddering when they look at me from the small windows in their doors, and feeling bad that I think of them as less than human. She opens the door and points to the bald thing curled up in the corner of the room.
“That’s your friend.” She says.

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