my stomach until I can taste every piece of content within it.
I can feel my legs giving out even as my breath begins to quicken. Each intake of my breath is becoming more shallow than the last. I want to scream out at the impossible illusions before me. I want to force myself to wake up from this visual torment. Even as I sit here seeing it before me, none if it makes any sense. Even though I just escaped it, I cannot grasp the actuality of it.
The most sacred of childhood places has become the source of macabre delights. Their tiny bodies fill the room with more ghoulish fright than my mind can contain from such defiled versions of innocence. My body slides to the floor, bracing against the door using it as a metallic shield of safety but no weight of material can protect me the from the horrors that continue to visually unfold before me.
Small frames of bodies are scattering throughout the room. Some are standing in a frozen statue-like state. Some are slowly gliding across the rubber-covered floor in a slow action paced game of follow the leaders. They move dream like over torn limbs and the shredded flesh strewn about. Their faces are always staring straight ahead with a complete void of emotions at the objects of disgust surrounding them. Their brightly colored clothing is soaked with various shades and patterns of deep crimson. Their white tennis shoes are stained and tracking through the pools with complete oblivion to it. Swinging ponytails keep time with a metronome of dread from sparkling colored ribbons. Only the slight twitching of fingers or head separates them from being wind up dolls of inhuman puppets.
There is no one over the age of eleven left in a life like state in the room, but the floor is a different story. It is littered with all ages upon it. No one was safe from the murderous mayhem that happened here. Nothing was kept sacred, as bodies lay torn and discarded about the room.
My brain tries desperately to rationalize it all as surely some hidden shoebox of mentally discarded facts will hold the key. Conroy’s option from before is tapping me on the shoulder to be heard, but I just can’t do it. These are not rotting corpses shuffling before me. These are children with stains and slack faces. Children hunched over still bleeding bodies, feasting as if it was a Thanksgiving pudding. Children, with gore-encrusted hands, making irregular marks along walls that they aimlessly drag themselves past. The room is filled with many children wearing blank faces that are normally adorned with smiles and laughter like the heavy perfume of youth.
Children, who should be running and playing with a freedom that only childhood can inspire, shamble around each other. These petite packages of our town’s perfection are now mindless murderers of their teachers and fellow classmates. Proof of their mindless cruelty and their brutal actions stare back at me from across the long room with their own blank stares. It is a sight to silence even the Angels of Heaven with the defining horror and sadness of it all.
“Do you see?” the blank faces wordlessly whisper. “Do you understand yet?” I do, behind hot tears of revulsion and fear, but I so do not want to.
Chapter 7
“H elena?” It is a small voice that whispers from behind me. I am too lost in my own layers of this private hell to comfort another from this sight. All I can spare from my own strength is a hand held up for her to grab. It is an anchor of support to lean upon while we both stare out into a dark void of a hellish scenery. A forbidden territory of horror is spreading out before us. We are new explorers in this new untouched land and neither of us wishes to make any more discoveries beyond what is already gracing us with its presence.
She begins to whisper names of the fallen adults like a priest at a war memorial. Softly at first, then only to emotionally choke at each new name said. I follow her finger as she acknowledges each of them out of
I can feel my legs giving out even as my breath begins to quicken. Each intake of my breath is becoming more shallow than the last. I want to scream out at the impossible illusions before me. I want to force myself to wake up from this visual torment. Even as I sit here seeing it before me, none if it makes any sense. Even though I just escaped it, I cannot grasp the actuality of it.
The most sacred of childhood places has become the source of macabre delights. Their tiny bodies fill the room with more ghoulish fright than my mind can contain from such defiled versions of innocence. My body slides to the floor, bracing against the door using it as a metallic shield of safety but no weight of material can protect me the from the horrors that continue to visually unfold before me.
Small frames of bodies are scattering throughout the room. Some are standing in a frozen statue-like state. Some are slowly gliding across the rubber-covered floor in a slow action paced game of follow the leaders. They move dream like over torn limbs and the shredded flesh strewn about. Their faces are always staring straight ahead with a complete void of emotions at the objects of disgust surrounding them. Their brightly colored clothing is soaked with various shades and patterns of deep crimson. Their white tennis shoes are stained and tracking through the pools with complete oblivion to it. Swinging ponytails keep time with a metronome of dread from sparkling colored ribbons. Only the slight twitching of fingers or head separates them from being wind up dolls of inhuman puppets.
There is no one over the age of eleven left in a life like state in the room, but the floor is a different story. It is littered with all ages upon it. No one was safe from the murderous mayhem that happened here. Nothing was kept sacred, as bodies lay torn and discarded about the room.
My brain tries desperately to rationalize it all as surely some hidden shoebox of mentally discarded facts will hold the key. Conroy’s option from before is tapping me on the shoulder to be heard, but I just can’t do it. These are not rotting corpses shuffling before me. These are children with stains and slack faces. Children hunched over still bleeding bodies, feasting as if it was a Thanksgiving pudding. Children, with gore-encrusted hands, making irregular marks along walls that they aimlessly drag themselves past. The room is filled with many children wearing blank faces that are normally adorned with smiles and laughter like the heavy perfume of youth.
Children, who should be running and playing with a freedom that only childhood can inspire, shamble around each other. These petite packages of our town’s perfection are now mindless murderers of their teachers and fellow classmates. Proof of their mindless cruelty and their brutal actions stare back at me from across the long room with their own blank stares. It is a sight to silence even the Angels of Heaven with the defining horror and sadness of it all.
“Do you see?” the blank faces wordlessly whisper. “Do you understand yet?” I do, behind hot tears of revulsion and fear, but I so do not want to.
Chapter 7
“H elena?” It is a small voice that whispers from behind me. I am too lost in my own layers of this private hell to comfort another from this sight. All I can spare from my own strength is a hand held up for her to grab. It is an anchor of support to lean upon while we both stare out into a dark void of a hellish scenery. A forbidden territory of horror is spreading out before us. We are new explorers in this new untouched land and neither of us wishes to make any more discoveries beyond what is already gracing us with its presence.
She begins to whisper names of the fallen adults like a priest at a war memorial. Softly at first, then only to emotionally choke at each new name said. I follow her finger as she acknowledges each of them out of
Similar Books
Dead Right
Brenda Novak
Dear Irene
Jan Burke
The Reveal
Julie Leto
A Night to Surrender
Tessa Dare
Wish 01 - A Secret Wish
Barbara Freethy
Tales of Arilland
Alethea Kontis
Vermilion Sands
J. G. Ballard
Flashback
Michael Palmer