Creative Writing: Restless Shifting Of Blood Cells

Creeping around the shadowy house, the predator found its prey waking to strange sounds. The victim lay facedown, with a sweating forehead pressed fearfully into the pillow, silently praying the noises would just go away. Suddenly the victim found himself straddled and pinned to the bed. He was unable to scream for help due to the pressure of the handle of a pick-axe against his throat, preventing any breath from escaping, much less any sound. The victim struggled beneath the weight of the assailant. The scant light from the sodium-arc street light outside cast a peculiar silhouette on the walls of the darkened room, projecting an image that looked oddly like that of a cowboy saddled upon

My legs are shaking with pain, but I need to know where I am and what strange things lie outside of that door way. Slowly I am making my way there, I hear people having a conversation just outside. I haven’t a clue what they are saying, it seems to be in some odd language. Finally I’m at the door. Terrified, I grab the knob and start to open it. It squeaks when I swing it open. In the hall I see no one, just white walls with white tile. “What the,” I say to out loud. I could have sworn I heard someone. My eye catches my room number, 387, it has my name on it. I look right and left, but see nothing expect florescent lighting and shut doors. I go to the door across from mine and try to open it. Locked, that’s odd. I try the next one, locked once again. I keep going, now at room 365 I give the knob a turn and it actually comes open. I hesitantly wander into the area. It looks the same as mine, minus the painting on one of the walls. It is an extremely abnormal painting. It depicts an out of the ordinary creature. “Why would this be in a hospital?” I whisper to myself.

The gray, bland walls still hold my drawings from years ago. Blood scattered around the room adds some color the dull, grey walls and floor. The only source of light comes from a small, prison-like window. There’s no bed or anything. Just emptiness. In the far corner, a chain with blood dripping off it hangs.

I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming and struggling to move my restrained arms. The night guards ripped open the heavy steel door to see what was wrong. The creature was standing in the corner looking right at me. I was pulling my arms against the leather restrains trying to point the naive guards to the cause of my appalling state. The

I was in a dark, moss-ridden dungeon where the air vigorously hung with the scent of death and suffering. Chains lay on the cobblestone walls, with hammered metal shackles on the cracked stone floor. My lab coat collected dust like a dead old skeleton six feet under. The gun felt gelid on my temple, my scrawny legs were shaking extremely fast, I thought they would run away but I knew I could escape.

The rooms were confined to themselves by a large metal door with a small slot about 5 feet from the floor that could only be opened from the outside. The walls were once a brilliant white, but now filled with the scratch marks and blood stains from the ones before me. The room stench of urine, most likely from the other patients. All there was in the room was a small cot with a mattress so thin, it almost looked as if it was a thin piece of plywood. As I laid there strapped to my bed by leather restraints that were made to “protect” me from myself, I kept pondering on the question “what did I do to deserve to be locked up in a place like this?” Then I remember my crime, and smile.

Slowly, I made my way out of the bed. The halls were dim and quiet. My foot steps could be heard a mile away. While making my way to the living room, the sounds of pots and pans startled me. I felt a cold breeze blow in front of me. Nothing was visible. My heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. Papers started to fly around. Blood stained the walls, my prized china shattered as high-pitched screams filled the room. The blood slowly formed words... her dying words.. her words of hell. “CRISTO!” I cried out. Papers covered the living room. The blood disappeared. I felt light-headed. It felt like it was happening in life. Luckily it was a dream. The dream was so vivid as if I was experiencing it. I hurriedly stood up looking around in my

As he thumbed off the safety, he allowed himself one last, stolen glance at the sculptured head, arching up to grasp an apple. Jamie swallowed and pulled the trigger with his twitching finger. The deer took a tremendous hop while Jaime's heart is pounding like a hammer hammering a nail. He stood there quietly with a stare looking back into the bush where the deer had ran. Jamie stood up shaking like it was 20 below out he bolted back to the house and told his mom and his dad the good news. After telling him Jaime and his dad headed for the woods. Jaime showed his dad where the deer had been when he shot it so it would be easy to find the blood trail. The woods was quit then Jamie's dad found the blood trail. Jaime and his dad followed the

Panting, he glanced at the fallen bowl and saw it was empty and he darted his eyes around for the wriggling of maggots, but he only saw bare black floor. He fell into a squat and covered his face with his arms, hyperventilating while gnashing his teeth. A dream? A nightmare? His gun. The heavy rifle felt comforting in his hands as he picked it up, letting his sense of touch affirm reality. He began to calm down and surmise that he was hallucinating due to the lack of

“AHHH!” I screeched. My voice echoed and I crumpled to the floor. As I lay on the ground, a smell seemed to enter and toxicate the air. I didn’t run, I didn’t fight the urge to fall asleep, I didn’t care if I died right there and then. In my mind I had already died, and my spirit was still back in bed dreaming of nothing important. I was just a body, a body waiting to meet the horror of this white prison. As I lay crying and beginning to holsinate another wave of white washed over me.

There it was, I was taking a little rest. With me being the membrane I shouldn't really rest, I mean, Iḿ basically the security around here. All day, everyday, letting organelles out, and others in. Tomorrow is the day that I need to write my report for Mr. Nucleus, last time I didn't and I got scolded for it.

Blood. The thick dark red fluid gushing out of the throat tastes of iron. It trickles down the sides of his forehead, like a snail leaving its wet slimy trails behind.

I was so beat and drained, attempting to keep my eyes open as I scrolled through my news feed was a struggle; for my eyelids suddenly became steel anvils. My whole body was drunk and fatigue after a long afternoons work, cooking borderline Chinese food for borderline healthy customers. Slowly fading off I drop my phone besides me and roll around, trying to find the comfy spot in my mattress that always seems to be playing hide and seek. Finally managing to find him I give One last inhale of oxygen and drift into the sea of the subconscious; my dreams.

My eyes fluttered open. I groaned and placed my hand on my head. Ugh. My head hurts. What happened?

I jolted awake in fear. I had a dream. A weird dream. A vivid dream. It was full of people shouting and bright flashes of light. It was confusing yet clear, like some part of me understood it. I didn’t know it would be important then but now I know. How? Well, it happened like this…