tommydarascal
kickbox
Hi everyone. For an assignment, I was told to produce a "scary setting," so I decided to create a kind of foreshadow in the weather, then use to weather itself to destroy...
Please tell me what you think!
Scary Setting
I remember it clearly. It was all … in layers, I suppose. Yes, “layers” is a good way to describe that day.
I was with my child, bursting with love and a warm, cosy feeling that mothers get when spending time with their children. Other little kiddies were dancing and screaming and running around with great big smiles painted on their faces. I could hear the laughter, rumbling, – yet innocently sweet – caressing my heart and filling me with memories of my childhood. I could smell sticky ice cream and fresh, clear grass, entering my nostrils and making me melt.
That was the bottom layer.
The top layer, above, was the sun. It was crimson – thick crimson – pouring red light and washing the children below in blood. The sky was weirdly purple – as dark as a hooded murderer – and waiting to execute. Red clouds were dotted abstractedly, like splatters of blood at a murder scene.
Lurking beneath my feelings of love and happiness were the expectancy of sudden violence and death.
Violence did occur.
The sun lowered itself beneath the horizon teasingly, almost as if it were bidding us goodbye. It was only 3pm. Darkness prevailed, almost triumphantly. I had my eyes closed by then, but the redness that danced on my lids suddenly dissipated. The dots of cloud abruptly disappeared and turned into millions of stars – millions of them – like pinholes made by a killer’s weapon. Light – terrible, murky light – shone on us, making us exposed, making us feel like rabbits caught in the headlights.
There were no clouds.
I am sure of it.
I suddenly clutched my child and brought him close to me, holding him tight. The laughter – that had promptly turned to silence – unexpectedly turned to screams.
Mothers and fathers raced around, flinging their children on their backs, packing up, running, running – all for no good reason.
You cannot run from the sky!
No, no. I just sat with my child, and it was what saved our lives … even though I could smell danger around the dark, mysterious corner.
Lightning. Bolts, long, sharp bolts, stabbing the ground everywhere.
How?
The stars turned red like broken skin, bleeding …
The shouts suddenly turned into screeches of pain, and people were hurled and tossed around everywhere – even the children – as forks of lightning crashed down on them. Homed in on them. “Just stay still, baby,” I whispered to my child. He was shaking, tears rolling down his cheeks.
I could smell burning flesh.
The horizon was lit up, too, almost like a battlefield. There was no thunder. In fact, tremendously, unnaturally, the lightning was all completely silent.
Not a sound.
There were just the screams of adults and innocent children dying.
Bodies lay raggedly everywhere, heads cracked and bones scattered.
Blood poured.
Please tell me what you think!
Scary Setting
I remember it clearly. It was all … in layers, I suppose. Yes, “layers” is a good way to describe that day.
I was with my child, bursting with love and a warm, cosy feeling that mothers get when spending time with their children. Other little kiddies were dancing and screaming and running around with great big smiles painted on their faces. I could hear the laughter, rumbling, – yet innocently sweet – caressing my heart and filling me with memories of my childhood. I could smell sticky ice cream and fresh, clear grass, entering my nostrils and making me melt.
That was the bottom layer.
The top layer, above, was the sun. It was crimson – thick crimson – pouring red light and washing the children below in blood. The sky was weirdly purple – as dark as a hooded murderer – and waiting to execute. Red clouds were dotted abstractedly, like splatters of blood at a murder scene.
Lurking beneath my feelings of love and happiness were the expectancy of sudden violence and death.
Violence did occur.
The sun lowered itself beneath the horizon teasingly, almost as if it were bidding us goodbye. It was only 3pm. Darkness prevailed, almost triumphantly. I had my eyes closed by then, but the redness that danced on my lids suddenly dissipated. The dots of cloud abruptly disappeared and turned into millions of stars – millions of them – like pinholes made by a killer’s weapon. Light – terrible, murky light – shone on us, making us exposed, making us feel like rabbits caught in the headlights.
There were no clouds.
I am sure of it.
I suddenly clutched my child and brought him close to me, holding him tight. The laughter – that had promptly turned to silence – unexpectedly turned to screams.
Mothers and fathers raced around, flinging their children on their backs, packing up, running, running – all for no good reason.
You cannot run from the sky!
No, no. I just sat with my child, and it was what saved our lives … even though I could smell danger around the dark, mysterious corner.
Lightning. Bolts, long, sharp bolts, stabbing the ground everywhere.
How?
The stars turned red like broken skin, bleeding …
The shouts suddenly turned into screeches of pain, and people were hurled and tossed around everywhere – even the children – as forks of lightning crashed down on them. Homed in on them. “Just stay still, baby,” I whispered to my child. He was shaking, tears rolling down his cheeks.
I could smell burning flesh.
The horizon was lit up, too, almost like a battlefield. There was no thunder. In fact, tremendously, unnaturally, the lightning was all completely silent.
Not a sound.
There were just the screams of adults and innocent children dying.
Bodies lay raggedly everywhere, heads cracked and bones scattered.
Blood poured.
