So I just found this on my computer. I wrote this about 2-3 years ago in my English class; we were doing creative writing based on a scene in Pan's Labrynth. Yes its in present tense first person please do not judge me I was 14 I made bad life decisions. Anyway this is the scene where she's just eaten the fruit from the table and she draws a door to get out. Except in mine she doesnt make it far.
~ Sirens
I stood frozen, shallow breaths of air rising up my throat, as I watched the monster rise slowly out of his seat. The knife tumbled out of my hand and my mouth flew open to scream but no sound escaped. I watched as the leather man stood, his spindly legs bowing under his weight and I stood paralysed as he started towards me. 5 strides away his foot struck the floorboards, sending dust motes spinning in a celestial dance glinting of the firelight at the end of the room. Four steps left. The bony hands stretched out towards me, the cruel nails pointing out like vicious hooks. Three steps left. I could feel his ragged breath on my cheeks a mixture of blood and rotting flesh filling my nose. Two steps. His eyes bore into mine, there is no remorse, no pity for the small girl reflected in those glassy black pits. One. I feel my body shudder and crumple to the floor, the stagnant air filling my lungs making me gag and a small defeated noise fights its way up my throat. My eyes close tightly shut.
I wait for death, wishing it swift, but the blow comes, not on my face, but on my back. The talons graze along my spine ripping the battered fabric of my dress and I feel wind rushing against my cheeks. I look down, my legs kicking, jerking, beneath me. I run. The monster staggers behind me each of his spindly steps matching three of mine. My flight whips tendrils of hair across my face and each ragged breath catches in my throat. I look back over my shoulder and his eyes find mine with such cruel conviction that I know its either my life, or his.
I run. I run. I trip. I fall. My hands grazing along the ground as he lets out a cry of triumph. My legs once propelled by adrenaline made useless once more by fatigue and fear and I am reduced to a crawling my knees leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The monster gains rapidly. His spindly legs propel him forward with new vigour. My shoulder strikes a pillar and I hear a sickening crack. It no longer sits in its socket. He towers above me and lowers the hand that will puncture my throat. Oh monster, my monster. Did your mother never teach you not to play with your food.