It was quiet outside, not a single sound was heard except for the almost inaudible sound of a sticky liquid hitting the floor in the living room. The hard, wooden bottom of the closet suddenly felt much more uncomfortable, but she could not move an inch. The walls were closing in on her, constricting, capturing, but she could not scream. The tiny bit of light, originating from a small, naked light bulb in the living room a mere handbreadth from her could only do so much. But even the inconsequential amount of light that flooded through the small peephole was more than enough for her to see far too much. Even In the darkness, even with her labored breath and tears blurring her vision, she could still see the blurry outline of her father, standing petrified with his back facing her. He was frozen by his own deed, knife still clutched in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the strain. She was sure he could hear it too; the piercing, phantom echo of her mother’s screams, her pleads for mercy and her sobbing apologies. The blood dripping off the knife was the same color as the wine the married couple had been sharing what seemed like an eternity ago, sliding down the sharp edge of the knife like the tears had down her delicate face. It all went wrong, everything had gone wrong. The girl could not see her; she could no longer hear her mother’s whimpering or her moans of pain. But the lack of the painful and heartbreaking sounds hurt her much more than the sounds themselves ever had or could. For those sounds had been the only proof of her mother still being amongst the living. While she could not see her, the girls’ imagination, the adrenaline coursing through her veins and her racing heart made her imagination go wild. She could see her body; the black dress, torn open and cast aside. The formerly smiling face, beaten, bloodied and pale. The young and petite frame that was her body, broken, bleeding, desecrated, withering. But even with the horrors going on inside the house, the world pushed forth. In the church, they had told her how God could do anything. But just for a second, she wished the world would stop in and cry for her mother. Even if only for a second.
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So, I had to write a short story with a heck-of-a-lot of Pathos in it.
Time spend on it: Approximately 25 minutes.
What do you think? Again, I appreciate ANY CnC!
Oh, and if posting original content is against the rules, just notify me and it won't happen again ^_^
-Zero
____________________________________________
So, I had to write a short story with a heck-of-a-lot of Pathos in it.
Time spend on it: Approximately 25 minutes.
What do you think? Again, I appreciate ANY CnC!
Oh, and if posting original content is against the rules, just notify me and it won't happen again ^_^
-Zero
