Post by ShadowRune on Jul 24, 2004 3:03:46 GMT
well, this is a short story from a school project, but I still like it ^-^
...it's kinda depressing, so if you're hyper and want to stay that way, I'll warn you away for the time being!
Time is a ribbon of lace winding and twisting like a snake into eternity, shot through with doubts and emptiness spreading like a blight across the road of life.
Nov. 1872; London, England
Slow footsteps echoed from deep within a deserted stone tunnel, sunk in darkness. The stone walls were dripping and if any light could have pierced the murk, the walls would have been revealed as dark emerald, ingrained with slime. The night was cool, but steam still rose from the streets, cloaking the ground in fog. The footsteps were muffled by the distance and the fog, but they still echoed around the stone streets like a heartbeat measuring time. A figure swathed in black resolved for a moment from the shadows and fog. The man moved on, seeming to float through the air, disappearing back into the city mists.
A body floated down a sluggish river, choked with garbage and human waste. It slowly sank out of sight, into the murky sludge. No one noticed, no one cared, no one knew.
Jan. 1919; Paris, France
A man in immaculate black formal wear sat on the edge of a fountain in Place de la Concorde. It was night and the lighting was scarce where the man sat. He was staring at the dark sky; it glittered like a thousand diamonds had been thrown across the void. There was sadness etched into his face. He sighed and rose silently, gracefully. His dark form slid into the darkness. People of all nationalities passed that very spot, not knowing what had been there. It was the time of the Peace Conference.
A Japanese woman was found dead in her bed the next day, dead of some mystery ailment. Her bloodless lips were slightly parted, and a delicate trickle of blood had leaked out of the side of her mouth.
Dec. 1957, Northern Ontario, Canada
A woman was hurrying home from the fields, wet clothing in her arms. Night was coming on swiftly. A dark shape loomed up out of the darkness, right into her path. She gasped and shied away. She tripped and fell to the ground, clutching her laundry. The shadow, on second glance, proved to be a man. She regained her breath, but didn’t relax entirely; a male stranger in the night never boded well. The stranger smiled gently and offered the woman a hand up. She took it hesitantly and he pulled her to her feet. They stayed frozen for a moment. The man suddenly pulled the woman to him roughly and his arms encircled her waist. She gasped, then went limp. She dropped her laundry and sagged in his arms. He dropped her to the ground, turned, and left. Snow began to fall, slowly covering the woman’s body. Her bloodless lips parted, and let out a stale breath.
Oct. 2003; (Vancouver) BC, Canada
A thin man huddled in a trash-strewn alleyway, draped with a black trench coat. His eyes were an ancient blue and his thin limbs held far more power than should have been humanly possible. A ragged hat perched on his raven-black hair like a waiting vulture, casting the man’s disturbing eyes into shadow. He rose, noiselessly, and slipped down the alleyway and out onto the street. He stepped out into the waiting mess of people, descended from proper lives to this world with nothing more than the clothes on their back and a dubious trade to their name. He walked down the street, through the mess. Suddenly his hand shot out and he grabbed a young girl, no more than 15 years old. Her trade was obvious, and she showed no fear of the man. She pulled herself to him and smiled, crushing her body into his. He pulled her along through the streets, swiftly, but not hurriedly. They came to a dark park. Most of the bushes were already occupied, but they found one and collapsed to the ground. She was flushed, but not winded. She started employing her trade, and the man responded. He curled his head under her neck, sending an electric thrill up the girl’s spine. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her neck; she struggled and tried to throw the man off her. He pinned her arms above her head. Slowly the girl’s struggles ceased. The man got up and picked her bloodless body up. He walked around the park until he got to the small lake in the park, and calmly dumped the body in. No one noticed, no one cared, no one knew, but the vampyre cried.
Time is a ribbon of lace winding and twisting like a snake into eternity, shot through with doubts and emptiness spreading like a blight across the road of life.
...it's kinda depressing, so if you're hyper and want to stay that way, I'll warn you away for the time being!
Time is a ribbon of lace winding and twisting like a snake into eternity, shot through with doubts and emptiness spreading like a blight across the road of life.
Nov. 1872; London, England
Slow footsteps echoed from deep within a deserted stone tunnel, sunk in darkness. The stone walls were dripping and if any light could have pierced the murk, the walls would have been revealed as dark emerald, ingrained with slime. The night was cool, but steam still rose from the streets, cloaking the ground in fog. The footsteps were muffled by the distance and the fog, but they still echoed around the stone streets like a heartbeat measuring time. A figure swathed in black resolved for a moment from the shadows and fog. The man moved on, seeming to float through the air, disappearing back into the city mists.
A body floated down a sluggish river, choked with garbage and human waste. It slowly sank out of sight, into the murky sludge. No one noticed, no one cared, no one knew.
Jan. 1919; Paris, France
A man in immaculate black formal wear sat on the edge of a fountain in Place de la Concorde. It was night and the lighting was scarce where the man sat. He was staring at the dark sky; it glittered like a thousand diamonds had been thrown across the void. There was sadness etched into his face. He sighed and rose silently, gracefully. His dark form slid into the darkness. People of all nationalities passed that very spot, not knowing what had been there. It was the time of the Peace Conference.
A Japanese woman was found dead in her bed the next day, dead of some mystery ailment. Her bloodless lips were slightly parted, and a delicate trickle of blood had leaked out of the side of her mouth.
Dec. 1957, Northern Ontario, Canada
A woman was hurrying home from the fields, wet clothing in her arms. Night was coming on swiftly. A dark shape loomed up out of the darkness, right into her path. She gasped and shied away. She tripped and fell to the ground, clutching her laundry. The shadow, on second glance, proved to be a man. She regained her breath, but didn’t relax entirely; a male stranger in the night never boded well. The stranger smiled gently and offered the woman a hand up. She took it hesitantly and he pulled her to her feet. They stayed frozen for a moment. The man suddenly pulled the woman to him roughly and his arms encircled her waist. She gasped, then went limp. She dropped her laundry and sagged in his arms. He dropped her to the ground, turned, and left. Snow began to fall, slowly covering the woman’s body. Her bloodless lips parted, and let out a stale breath.
Oct. 2003; (Vancouver) BC, Canada
A thin man huddled in a trash-strewn alleyway, draped with a black trench coat. His eyes were an ancient blue and his thin limbs held far more power than should have been humanly possible. A ragged hat perched on his raven-black hair like a waiting vulture, casting the man’s disturbing eyes into shadow. He rose, noiselessly, and slipped down the alleyway and out onto the street. He stepped out into the waiting mess of people, descended from proper lives to this world with nothing more than the clothes on their back and a dubious trade to their name. He walked down the street, through the mess. Suddenly his hand shot out and he grabbed a young girl, no more than 15 years old. Her trade was obvious, and she showed no fear of the man. She pulled herself to him and smiled, crushing her body into his. He pulled her along through the streets, swiftly, but not hurriedly. They came to a dark park. Most of the bushes were already occupied, but they found one and collapsed to the ground. She was flushed, but not winded. She started employing her trade, and the man responded. He curled his head under her neck, sending an electric thrill up the girl’s spine. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her neck; she struggled and tried to throw the man off her. He pinned her arms above her head. Slowly the girl’s struggles ceased. The man got up and picked her bloodless body up. He walked around the park until he got to the small lake in the park, and calmly dumped the body in. No one noticed, no one cared, no one knew, but the vampyre cried.
Time is a ribbon of lace winding and twisting like a snake into eternity, shot through with doubts and emptiness spreading like a blight across the road of life.
