A/N My first story on FictionPress.com so please be nice and review!! ^_^
Scarlet Scene
Ella stood gasping in the corner of the dark, grimy, room. The walls were wet with damp, and moss. The air was thick with pollution, and as she breathed in, she choked on the fumes. She sank down to the floor in a sob, and cuddled her knees with fear, closing her eyes tightly against the horrors that stood, or rather lay before her.
After a few minutes, of trying, but failing to calm herself down. She chanced opening her eyes. Her eyes groped the darkness, as she felt with one hand the ground in front of her. She screamed lightly as it came in contact with something warm and sticky. She pulled her hand away, knowing but not seeing it to be sheened with red.
Then in anger, or fear, probably a mix of the two. The cold knife fell from her blood stained hand, and chinked onto the hard stone floor. She threw herself against the wall sobbing, in utter disbelief at what she had just done. She, Ella Green, who had never so much as killed a fly in her life, who campaigned against war, and the death penalty, Ella Green, who had shed buckets of tears over September the 11th, was sitting in the grimy prison cell like room, with a knife in her head.
Maybe he wasn't dead, just unconscious. She tapped her with her foot, but withdrew quickly. She ran to the corner and was violently sick.
Night had fallen, in the cell. But there was no way out, no way out for Ella. The moonlight shone through the rusty bars, lighting up the scarlet scene. The body swam in front of her eyes, even when she closed them there was no escape. She ran to the iron door, and banged her fists on it, but no one heard. She was alone, all alone with the murdered man.
It took several minutes to calm herself down, and gradually she began to think rationally. She paced the stone, trying desperately to ignore the bloody man by the wall. As she walked she reached down for the knife, which she had dropped.
"I'm sorry." She said, to the empty, silent room. "I'm sorry."
She held the knife above her, ready to plunge into the delicate white skin of her stomach.
"I'm sorry." Her last words rang out, as once more the knife clattered to the floor.
Scarlet Scene
Ella stood gasping in the corner of the dark, grimy, room. The walls were wet with damp, and moss. The air was thick with pollution, and as she breathed in, she choked on the fumes. She sank down to the floor in a sob, and cuddled her knees with fear, closing her eyes tightly against the horrors that stood, or rather lay before her.
After a few minutes, of trying, but failing to calm herself down. She chanced opening her eyes. Her eyes groped the darkness, as she felt with one hand the ground in front of her. She screamed lightly as it came in contact with something warm and sticky. She pulled her hand away, knowing but not seeing it to be sheened with red.
Then in anger, or fear, probably a mix of the two. The cold knife fell from her blood stained hand, and chinked onto the hard stone floor. She threw herself against the wall sobbing, in utter disbelief at what she had just done. She, Ella Green, who had never so much as killed a fly in her life, who campaigned against war, and the death penalty, Ella Green, who had shed buckets of tears over September the 11th, was sitting in the grimy prison cell like room, with a knife in her head.
Maybe he wasn't dead, just unconscious. She tapped her with her foot, but withdrew quickly. She ran to the corner and was violently sick.
Night had fallen, in the cell. But there was no way out, no way out for Ella. The moonlight shone through the rusty bars, lighting up the scarlet scene. The body swam in front of her eyes, even when she closed them there was no escape. She ran to the iron door, and banged her fists on it, but no one heard. She was alone, all alone with the murdered man.
It took several minutes to calm herself down, and gradually she began to think rationally. She paced the stone, trying desperately to ignore the bloody man by the wall. As she walked she reached down for the knife, which she had dropped.
"I'm sorry." She said, to the empty, silent room. "I'm sorry."
She held the knife above her, ready to plunge into the delicate white skin of her stomach.
"I'm sorry." Her last words rang out, as once more the knife clattered to the floor.