a/n [Written for Caesar's Palace's Monthly One-shot Challenge. Also written for my school's Creative Writing Club's prompt 'Horror'.]
It was dark, dark, dark when she set out to stumble her way over the train tracks that used to lead into the town. The rusting rails were slick with frost, and her feet slid along and slipped off the metal bars as she tiptoed along. Her wide green eyes shone out like beacons into the dark night. A hallucination of rumbling tracks that vibrated up her legs and knocked her knees had her shivering from more than the cold.
She told herself to walk just a few more steps, and then she would be done. But a few steps turned into more, and suddenly she couldn't have stopped walking if she tried. It was frightening, and her bones clattered from the freezing winter.
The moon gave her light and the animals gave her music. Back and forth she danced from slick rail to slicker rail until she was only a blur in the night.
And that's when the bright lights shot down the track and swallowed her whole.
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There once was a tale of the blackest of nights and the brightest of lights and the scariest of frights. It had twists and turns and flipped one upside down. It entranced every mind that it passed by; it captured the souls of those who tried to hide. It was a tale of haunted deaths and a girl who would never speak out.
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It was light, light, light and when her bare toes curled over the grass, she was blinded by the sun. Her uncovered arm shot in front of her eyes to block out the brightness. Her head tilted down and she watched her toes squirm in the damp field. Her eyes found their way back up to the horizon to watch the sun disappear below the water line, the farthest sight that she could see.
The sky was every shade of pink and orange that the human mind could see and then some. There were colors never thought of that shone brighter than the rest. And she could count each and every one.
Some days she'd stare into nowhere and see everywhere instead. The kids in the back of the class would nudge each other and point at her, the strange girl, the crazy girl, the mad girl. One day, she'd show them. And they would try to see somewhere, but all they would find was an empty void of nothing.
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And in this tale, like all other great tales, there was a monster. It was dangerous, it could kill, but the scariest part of all was how it appeared. It looked just like anyone else would.
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The quiet girl raised her eyes from the grains in her desk (there were exactly 746, she counted) and focused them on the light haired boy in front of her. The hair rose on the nape of his neck, but he shook it off. And blamed it on the chill.
The chill followed everyone the next day when a squeaky voice announced his tragic death over the intercom. Found on the side of the road. Missing his head. Murder, probably. And everyone hung his or her head for the soulless boy. Except for the girl with the wide green eyes who smiled all the way home.
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There was also a tale about love, but it never managed to shine past the fear.
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It was black, black, black outside and the girl froze when a hand skimmed over her arm. She turned away and ran. She didn't look back, not ever. Curled in a ball in her room, she was scared. Her heartbeat quickened. It pounded her head in. Her clasped hands stuck with sweat.
She was scared. And she didn't know what to do.
It was night, night, night and this time she was silent when the hand skimmed over her arm. The stark contrast of warm on cold struck her heart with lightning, and her spine straightened like an arrow. The voice was calm against the frigid air. It asked her name. She didn't have one. She was animal. It called her Annie for short.
And it was dark meetings in secret where she fell in love with him: the boy with the voice of melted butter that warmed her from head to toe. It was a mystery that topped all mysteries. She never understood it. And she loved it.
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And then it was a tale about death. And that was the worse one of them all.
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Her mystery was gone into a soulless place of soulless nothings and she never shed a tear. She broke, but she was good at breaking. He was good at building her back up again. Without him, she destroyed. She was animal, monster, mad. That was the way it should be. Any other reality was a simply a delusion. She folded up her mystery like a note passed over desks and stored it away like a box in the attic.
Her head stayed bowed in class and she fell when the others pushed her and she stayed down on the ground for all eternity. It wasn't worth it. She wished they would all just go away. She screamed and screamed and screamed.
And with a snap of her fingers she became a monster again.
She was falling, falling falling. Her fall took down more than herself. The news called it devastating, which it was. They also called it a nature phenomenon. Not to occur again in the next thousand years. Absolutely beautiful. Absolutely devastating. She wanted to escape. That was something she couldn't do.
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Once upon a time there was a tale about a girl who never got her prince. Who destroyed everything she touched. Who didn't live happily ever after. They don't tell those kinds of stories anymore.
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It was a grave month of grave feelings. The ghosts in town weaved between scurrying bodies late for work, and sailed through old graphitized walls. The girl watched with wide eyes (that looked more grey than green) and swiped her arm through any pale apparition that wandered to close. With a flick of her wrist a pigeon scrambling for food dropped to the sidewalk, feathers ruffled and neck twisted sharply to the side. Empty, beady eyes stared into hers, forcing her to look away because the look in them reflected her own too well.
And she presses cold fingertips against her wrist to make sure her blood's still pumping. Her uneven pulse says yes, her heart says no.
She has her nose pressed to her desk because trigonometry is boring and her head is pounding so hard she couldn't think anyway. She asks in that quiet voice of hers if she can go to the nurse. A girl with black braids trips her on her way out.
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I'm sorry to say, but this is a tale of sorrow. And there is no going back.
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With careful fingers, she unfolded the parched paper. It was filled with obscure words smudged with tears. She held it against her chest, and she did something she had never done before. She cried. One stinging tear marked it's way down her cheek. Then another fell and tucked itself into the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted at the saltiness, and the tears poured out with her wracking sobs.
It was just miserable when shaking fingers clawed into her arm. She didn't want anything to with him anymore. He was too late. She spun around to find him no longer hidden by the sun's shadow. It was bright as day, and his hair shone like bronze. His lips slowly met hers and she remembered. She was human. She was sane. She was Annie.
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There once was a tale more horrid than horror itself, but now horrid has new expectations that she doesn't bother to meet. And the girl with the wide green eyes leaves that empty shell of a shy girl behind.
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And it's a new beginning.