A Other Type by Cheshiregriffin


Author: Cheshiregriffin
Created: April 19, 2012 at 07:25 pm
Upload Type: Other Type, M (16+)  
Category: Horror | Suspense | Dark
Upload Stats: 4 Stars by 2 users with 2 comments and 135 views

Paint a picture of the deepest dark  

It was a cold night with a sliver of moon and hardly any stars. The only clouds in the sky were the chemtrails lingering like an ominous blur staining the ceiling of the night. Just the occasional shriek of a rat, or the loud drips of water on steel, broke the silence. The rusted remnants of old dumpsters lined the marred brick walls like a line of prisoners awaiting execution. A single door, thick from rot and splitting in it's frame, lay partially askew at the end of the alley with a single number on its face. The metal numbers had long ago fallen from the wood, but they were etched in it from ages of weather and wear. It smelled like rain and fermentation, it felt like an air of death that permeates the skin and leaves it sort of sticky. Though one of the few things that truly stand out in this alley is the shadows. They just don't quite line up like they should. It's as if there were more than the single streetlight bent over the edge of the far wall. And not to mention the eyes that peek out from beneath. Not quite red and not quite yellow they glare at the man laying face down in the middle of the alley. They seem to know something that no-one else does, that no-one else could. Yet they still stare at the figure in the alley, still and lifeless, a thin stream of red trailing into the gutters only a few feet away. The streetlight blinks and shudders for a moment before brightening again and the thing is visible. The long object laid into the body and sticking out like a flag pole from it's back. It glints in a strange way and as it shifts from its own awkward weight, it can be seen as what it is, one of a very old style of gunblades. It's not something that is seen in this century, possibly even longer. Though a better description cannot be told, the eyes are now glaring at the teller of this tale. The look of them says that we are not allowed to know who this man was, or where this strange gunblade came from. And I dare not tell you, for in the look in those eyes speaks of death to remain and paint this picture. I dare not continue in fear that they may be peering out of my own closet tonight To speak with their teeth instead of their eyes that I should not have continued.

Last Modified: April 19, 2012 at 07:29 pm
© Cheshiregriffin - all rights reserved

Author Notes


Painting you a mental picture of a strange scene, a dark scene.


 
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Comments & Reviews



ladyanglican
April 20, 2012
Helpful? Thumbs UpThumbs Down
intresting
it set you in the mood wish there was more to it


There are no comments on this review.




Torn
April 19, 2012
Helpful? Thumbs UpThumbs Down
I very much enjoyed the dark imagery and atmosphere that you conveyed in a neatly perfect manor. It was, as you yourself proclaimed, incredibly dark.

Excellent job, keep writing
Torn


There are no comments on this review.




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