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Creative Writing Share your fan fiction, stories, poems, essays, editorials, song lyrics, or any other related written work. All written must be your creation. Start a new thread, and keep replying to that thread as you add on more chapters. Anyone can join in at anytime.


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Old 07-05-2011, 01:46 AM
alaskapidove's Avatar
alaskapidove Offline
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Join Date: Feb 2011
Posts: 183
Default [WAR X Creative Writing] Cradle (Violence, disturbing themes)

TEAM VILE

Right, so this is disturbing and sad, so don't read this if you're a young whippersnapper. :>

For after you read:
Spoiler:
Basically, the man himself is his opposite. In the flashback, he would do anything to save his daughter, and in the present of this story, he wants to kill the girl that in his mind represents her.




The man climbed silently through the girl's window. His heart was beating wildly out of control as he approached what had been the object of his desire for months. If possible, he became even more excited by the sight of her sleeping form and the gentle rise and fall of her body with each breath she took. Soon, he told himself, she would breathe no more.

He had been following her for months. He watched her walk to and from school every morning. He was there by her side every time she went out with her friends. Every night, he watched her as she slept. She was his and tonight, he would finally claim her.

He walked carefully across her room to her bed, his feet making no noise. As he stood over her tiny body, he smiled grimly. He remembered how patient he had been. Waiting, always waiting, for the day she was left alone. He remembered that very afternoon, the joy he felt when he saw the car pull away, leaving her home by herself. He breathed in deeply, hoping to remember the flowery smell of her room. He wanted to commit every part of this evening to memory.

For the first time, his hands reached out and stroked her silky, blonde hair, as they had always wished to. In her sleep, the girl arched her back towards him, unknowingly pushing herself closer to her death. No, the man thought, not her death, her rebirth. He would drain her of every drop of blood and she would be reborn, a pale, cold angel. He would take her then and hide her. Possibly under his porch, possibly in the woods, maybe even in the icy depths of the river that ran outside of the town. He would keep her safe until all that was left of her was bones and then he would keep those bones until they turned to dust.

He took his hand away from her hair and ran it down the length of her spine. She twitched and for a moment, her eyes shot open, green orbs in the otherwise total darkness. The man became perfectly still, like a deer in the headlights, and after a few seconds, her eyes shut again. He sighed in relief. She looked so small to him. Though she must have been sixteen or seventeen, she seemed to be only a small child, just like the one he had lost long ago....He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Not tonight. He wouldn't think of her tonight. Tonight would be perfect.

Before his thoughts could return to the dark parts of his past, he pulled the knife from his pocket. It was unimpressive. It was nothing more than a cheap switchblade he had picked up at an outdoors store, but it would do. He leaned forward, planning to gently push the blade between her ribs, into her heart, but he stopped suddenly. Curled up next to her chest, by the round shape of her breasts that he would normally not be able to take his eyes off of, lay a small kitten. It yawned and opened its eyes, which stared at him curiously. The kitten looked at him a moment longer before snuggling closer to the girl. That kitten...it seemed so familiar, like a dream from many years before. Suddenly, he remembered.

The man stood in a house not unlike the one he was currently in. The only difference was that this was a house he belonged in, one that was his. Silent tears streamed down the mans face as he peered into the cradle that held the tiny, little girl. She was so thin he could see her ribs through her nightgown, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her to eat anything, she just vomited it back up. She coughed and started choking, trying to clear her throat of the bloody mucus that filled it. The sound tore at the man's heart. She was dying. His tiny daughter was dying, with less than three years spent on the earth. He fell to his knees. He couldn't stand the pain. Less than three years since he had found his wife, his beautiful wife, hanging from the ceiling fan. Less than three years since he had quit his job, unable to cope with daily life in the office after his wife's death. His baby girl was dying and he could do nothing to save her.

He didn't know how long he spent curled in the floor, sobbing like a baby, but when he composed himself, he saw something that took the broken pieces of his heart and crushed them. His wife's old cat was curled up next to his baby. It's once shiny, black pelt was streaked with gray, the same color as his daughter's skin. The toddler arched forward, glad for the warmth of the elderly feline. Her little hands grabbed onto its fur. The man couldn't take anymore. With a sob, he headed for his bedroom and without bothering to take off his clothes, he collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep.

In the morning when he woke, a deathly quiet seemed to fill the house. His heart beating wildly, he tiptoed into his daughter's room and screamed. His daughter and the cat were dead. Their bodies were wrapped around each other, neither moving in the slightest. He ran his fingers through his daughter's blonde hair and began to cry again.

The man's mouth hung open in a silent scream as he was pulled back to the present. He recoiled from the girl and choked back a sob. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt her. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He stared at her for a moment longer, imagining her bed as a cradle, holding the life of a child near death within.

“I love you, Marissa,” he said and crept back across the room. He left as silently as he had come in and within seconds, he was nothing more than a shadow in the night.
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