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The Storm Has Raine (standard:horror, 2602 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: shadowsinflamesUpdated: Dec 11 2003Views/Reads: 2198/1353Part 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 


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