|The Storm Has Raine (standard:horror, 2602 words) [1/2] show all parts|
|Author: shadowsinflames||Updated: Dec 11 2003||Views/Reads: 2161/1319||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|What starts out as an innocent hangout with friends ends with a transformation that will forever rule my life. I have no choice but to follow the path that has been lain before me, the path of blood.|
There'd always been something lulling about the hazy smell of cigeratte and clove smoke on a cold, fall evening that was just enticing enough to lure me to think of trying the dangerous habit, but never actually going through. It was a rich, pungent scent that stimulated memories into overdrive and made me long to sit on the curb to share long intakes of the poison. Not that I ever did. It was by far too expensive and offensive of a habit for me to pick up, but nevertheless, the scent was hard to resist. Lucky for me, all of my friends were heavy smokers, inhaling enough to put me on a high from the smoke content in the air. That could be why I've never had a bad memory of them, anything bad was whiped out by chemicals spoiling on my brain. My friends weren't exactly the creme of society. Rather, we permantly wore the label freaks for our goth look and take on life. It wasn't that we worshipped satan or anything, we just were merely into the more sadistic side of mankind. Like take me for instance, I'm a bit twisted in the head. Okay, I lied, I'm very twisted, but it's all in harmless fun. I enjoy reading about the angry, far more hostile, monsters dwelling among us in human flesh. Like serial killers hold a special interest for me. Doesn't mean I want to be one, just means I like to study them. I'm also very into vampires and death, it scares me. Don't doubt that. On the same note, however, it's cleverly appealing, I want to know what's on the other side. Certainly there's not just nothing, but I don't believe there are prancing angels with feather wings and shiny gold halos either. Anyway, being the social butterfly that I am, I met up with my friends in a playground in Rod's neighborhood. The playgrounds, that during the day, welcome anyone twelve or under with parent, but during the night, are well advised to steer clear of. Even the cops tend to avoid the area, not cause they're afraid, but why stir up trouble with hooligans that won't bite unless antagonized? Rod had one of his highly worshipped mixes of pot out for sharing, and everyone but me dove in for the glory. It wasn't that I'd didn't get high, cause I did on occasion, it was just a rare one. Like I had to be celebrating something beside's the fact that life was good, or else it just lost it's sparkle. Watching them all practically beg for a few puffs always made me want to laugh for some reason. I would never understand why, maybe it was the idea that they were begging for a few years on their lives to be taken off or for their recreational interest in pot to become a full blown addiction to something stronger. It wasn't likely I would ever figure it out, but it was entertaining never the less. Suddenly headlights swooped over the park and the pipe was hastily shoved behind someone's back, sure that the vehicle would keep moving. Of course, it didn't. They stopped with the lights blinding everyone, targeted on them as if they were to be shot before a firing squad. For one moment, they shielded their eyes and smiled nervously, as if innocently playing on a playground at one in the morning, then everyone bolted. The lights were immediately shut off, and the playground which had seemed brightened by the only the moon was plunged into darkness. There was no way I was getting caught, yeah I smelled strongly of the stuff, but I hadn't been doing it. I wasn't getting handcuffed for a crime that I hadn't committed. So without further hesitation, I was running as well, begging not to run full force into a pull or wipe out the slippery sand. Suddenly hands grabbed me and pulled me into a tunnel. I began to scream, not because I was afraid, because it was so unexpected. 'Shhh,' Rod begged, covering my mouth with his hands, the pot still eminating strongly to my nostrils, making me both inhale with delicious delight and fight the powerful urge to sneeze. I silenced immediately only to hear footsteps that had an unnatural sneakiness to them that meant they weren't one of our friends. Being so close to Rod should have been appealing, but the pace of his heart, fast and terrifed, did nothing but send chills along my body. The footsteps stopped and waited, as we did, holding our breath. Then they continued onward and we breathed a sigh of relief. Rod was yanked out with no warning and he screamed like a pig about to be slaughtered, then he shrieked, 'Run Raine. Run!' At first, it wasn't Click here to read the rest of this story (165 more lines)
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