Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories... |
Basically anything under 1500 words. Enjoy
![]() The poem which won 1st place at Rebel Poetry is "Stained Portrait" ![]() ![]() The poem which placed second at "Writing 4 Kids" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
She stumbled through alleys slimy with rotted litter, always merely a few strides ahead of him, avoiding betraying puddles of sickly moonlight. Darting short off into a side street, she pressed herself against the damp, crumbling wall, breath hitching in her side. He passed her hiding place unawares. As his footfalls distanced, she once again took flight, leaping across jagged heaps of rubble, crawling under tangled barbed wire, and scrambling up the pock-marked side of a demolished building on the outskirts of town. At what would have been a rooftop overlook, an enemy guard nodded off, oblivious. One shove sent him rolling over the side, armor rattling, crashing with an echo that bounced between walls. She didn't stop to see the result of her ruthlessness, only kept moving. A rusty fire escape beckoned to the next level. Skittering down, she hit the rough pavement running. Muddy orange lights flickered ahead. She swung to another alley to avoid them. Fog lay dense, low to the ground, suffocating. A wrong turn brought her to a dead end scarcely wide enough to slip through. Spinning on her heel, she pulled up short as a figure slipped into the alley, blocking her way out. It was her pursuer. He approached slowly, weapons undisclosed, banking on sheer size difference to press in on her. “You thought I couldn't detect your destination and cut you off?” She said nothing, only watched with narrowed, steely eyes. “You have terrorized these barren streets long enough,” he continued, meeting her gaze with grim relish. “I tolerated your struggle for survival alongside us – until you stole my brother's last water as he lay bleeding. You forfeited your life the night you left him to die unaided.” “You liar. You know I told you where he was. You left him there, not I.” “Argument is futile,” he growled. “You will not drain our resources any further.” He lunged forward. She slithered under, attempting escape. He grabbed her arm from behind and swung her around, flinging her to the ground and coming down hard with a knee in her chest. Breath knocked out, sharp edges of broken asphalt digging into her back, she glared at cold eyes inches from hers. “How dare you,” she hissed. “You are no better than I.” He laughed then, a sharp sneer. The dagger he had not needed until now glinted with its own reddened glow. With one sweep across her throat, it was over. A flash of lightning filled the alley. Death's silent scream rang in his ears like thunder. He stood up, wiping off the dagger and sheathing it. Icy wind howled through the alley. An uneasy chill settled in his stomach. He turned to leave. She stood in front of him, blocking the exit, glowing red like the dagger, a slash across her neck. “You thought that was the last you'd see of me?” He charged through her ghost, coming out the other side choking and gasping as if he'd plunged into ice water. She followed him into the twitching shadows of the midnight streets. Thus began the dance: a pursuer now pursued. He could not run fast enough to escape her. Across splintered rooftops, through underground tunnels, to the edge of the bubbling, tainted river, he ran until he slipped in the mud and stumbled to his knees on the melting riverbank. She engulfed him, her chill piercing his marrow, yanking at his soul to tear it loose from his body. He rolled off the bank into the river, sinking beneath the boiling surface, thinking to lose her. Acidic contaminants made short work of him. Within minutes, he floated up over the river, glowing dull red, ragged holes in skin which no longer existed. The two ghosts wove an eternally silent choreography through the ruined city, always chasing each other, never catching up. Whispers of unholy wind trailed in their wake, causing any who still eked out survival on the shattered streets to shiver and clutch their weapons tighter. Words: 666. Written for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..." |