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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Contest >> ID #1153424 |   |
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  For your reading pleasure, I post my favorite of the contest:
I would like to share this award with Kiya, for her amazing entry. I’ve been here before! Was it in a dream, a vision, perhaps even a nightmare? This landscape looks oddly familiar to me, but I don’t know why. I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at craggy rocks that lay scattered like children's discarded building blocks. They are not gray or black, but rather blood-red and shadowed by a cloudless crimson sky that hangs over my head like a horrid shroud. I scrutinize the distance and what I see is astounding, as well as terrifying. The ravaged terrain below me juts up toward effulgent skies, like shooting volcanic rock, dagger-like and dangerous. Between them I can see the beginnings of low valleys where no grass, tree or life grows--much like the countryside surrounding the grave I dug for my wife, Aberdeen. Strange, I haven't thought about her in years, so why now? She still lies there today, unknown and unseen from prying eyes. Perhaps this is why there is a familiarity about this place, I reason to myself. “Is anyone out there?” I scream. To my horror, my voice carries like the blast of a gunshot, echoing and ricocheting off the rocks and valleys of these empty vermilion lands. There is a familiarity in that sound too, although I can't place where or when. I shake the thought from my mind because there are other things to consider here. Am I asleep and dreaming? Fear oozes through me like a slithering snake searching for prey. It leaves a sinuous trail of numbing cold in its wake, and I shudder despite myself. It's a strange sensation because I can feel beads of sweat dotting my forehead. The heat of this place is intense and suffocating, and I find it difficult to draw a breath. I'm confused by these conflicting sensations that wash over and through me. “Hello?” I cry out again, softer this time, and I hear the quivers of panic laced within my words. Only silence greets my call. The charred landscape contrasts again the crimson sky like a stark reminder that this world cannot be real. The unwavering heat is crisping my skin and it continues its relentless battle with the coldness seeking to claim me inside. Am I dead? I think in horror. This can't be, for I distinctly remember donning my pajamas and slipping between crisp, clean sheets in the comfort of my own home. I look down and realize I am wearing jeans and a faded green sweater that I threw out years ago. “I am dreaming,” I whisper in feigned comfort. “To whom do I pay homage?” Startled by the sound, I turn toward the voice spoken behind me. There is a man dressed in a neat pinstriped suit, and he stares back at me with obvious curiosity behind piercing blue eyes. Is he real? “My name is Henry…Henry Avondale. And you, sir?” I wait politely for a response. “My name is unimportant--for the moment. How is it that you have found yourself here?” he asked, approaching closer, so that he is standing at my side. “I'm confounded by all of this. Can you help me? Where am I?” By now, my fear has taken on a life of its own, and it continues to grow and fester like a repugnant wound deep within my soul. This stranger intrigues me, although I don't feel any safer than I did a few moments ago. A sudden explosion fills my ears, and the world around me shudders from the violence resonating in the stifling air. I turn in horror to see a multitude of geysers spewing black-red lava high into the air from the harsh ground below. From this distance, I swear it will reach me and sear the flesh from my bones. Heaving a loud sigh of relief, I notice that the thick, bright liquid falls miles away. Cascading waterfalls of beautiful swaying fire drops to the barren land, as if keeping in time to music I can't hear. Everything the lava touches sizzles and bursts into baleful spheres of blue-red flames. Steaming wisps of sulfuric smoke rises like ethereal mists. The stench of brimstone stings my eyes, and tears begin to run freely down my cheeks. I gag on the acrid stench, willing my mind to believe that this is not real--what I feel is not real. The stranger pays little attention to me as he stands at my side, staring out across the bloodstained mural. “What do you see?” he queried. Confused, I wipe away my tears with the heel of my hand. I don't understand what I see, nor can I explain it, and I tell him this. “It's nothing but a dream; it can't be real. Something this bizarre...this horrifying…it can't be real.” I realize too late that I'm trying to convince myself more than him. “Ahhh, but there is beauty in all things, is there not?” Quirking a thin brow, he rests his gaze upon me once more. I turn away from the intensity of his glare. From the corner of my eye, I watch thin tendrils of ebony hair dance like cobwebs around his angular face, yet I don't feel a breeze. Nothing moves here; no wind, no animal--nothing. Only these geysers of fiery flames are alive. Wait… I am alive! I cry to myself. The stranger smiles, clasping his hands behind him. “I believe I shall be the judge of that Mr. Avondale…and we have an eternity to discuss such matters. Come. Let me show you around.” Then it hits me. “Nooo…” I shriek until my throat is as parched as these lands. “But Aberdeen asked me so nicely,” he whispered. Word Count: 966 Prompt: Write a fictional account of a place you visited. Make it a place you've never been to; yet, you have to use your imagination and convince us that you were there and tell us what it was like.
© Copyright 2006 DusktilDawn ~ one day at a tim (UN: dusktildawn at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
DusktilDawn ~ one day at a tim has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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