Post by Jakazul on Aug 26, 2006 20:43:22 GMT -5
I actually wrote this a couple of years ago, but I recently updated it for use as a monologue. All comments welcome.
Based on a True Story
It was a late summer night when I found myself cornered.
I was in the center of a small field. Fences with jagged crisscrossing iron
lattice laced the tops of the encompassing walls: I was completely trapped.
My attackers had found me just seconds before, swarming from the shadows all around. For a few moments I had tried to fight them off, battled franticly, but it was to no avail. Now all I could do was make a mad dash for the small, Victorian styled building perched at the edge of the courtyard, rising ominously out of the landscape.
Bits of flesh clung to my skin like leeches as I ran, my enemy's blood now mixing with my own, rust colored streaks forming across my arms and legs as I beat my adversaries away.
My skin seemed to bubble up where their daggers plunged into me, sinking deep into my flesh.
I felt as though I was being drained slowly, a blood transfusion with the last half forgotten.
Images of zombies from classic horror movies, their dry, raggedy skin hanging from their bones, flitted through my mind as my attackers relentlessly surged about me.
I prayed that the injuries wouldn't be fatal and tried to beat back the onslaught as I sprinted for the building, now only yards away, but it was no use.
I swatted at them hopelessly, devoid of any weapons myself; punching, stomping, running...
Several of my pursuers fell away, dropping to the ground in hazes of blood, their faces smashing against hard pavement, but there were too many.
Just a few more steps.
It was getting dark now and I sped up, my heart racing, my feet slamming across the ground, sweat dripping off my face. My side felt like it was about to explode, breathing was becoming more and more forced.
More ground. More. Then it transitioned into the drive of the building and I painfully forced myself to go even faster, dashing for my only safe haven.
My hand shot out, grasping for the handle. Beating away another assailant I flung the door open and fell into the cool air, slipping and then slumping against a wall.
Fresh air wafted through the building, drying the sweat that had beaded up on my face.
I slammed the door closed with my foot and sat breathing heavily, my back to the wall, watching as my attackers pounded against the windows beneath the motion sensing lights that had come on when I darted inside.
My mother walked into the room, looking concerned.
"What's the matter with you? Are you okay"
I looked at her, thankful to finally be safe and uttered the three words that had been racing through my mind since I had entered the hotel parking lot.
"I hate mosquitoes."
© Jake Fox 2006, All Rights Reserved
Based on a True Story
It was a late summer night when I found myself cornered.
I was in the center of a small field. Fences with jagged crisscrossing iron
lattice laced the tops of the encompassing walls: I was completely trapped.
My attackers had found me just seconds before, swarming from the shadows all around. For a few moments I had tried to fight them off, battled franticly, but it was to no avail. Now all I could do was make a mad dash for the small, Victorian styled building perched at the edge of the courtyard, rising ominously out of the landscape.
Bits of flesh clung to my skin like leeches as I ran, my enemy's blood now mixing with my own, rust colored streaks forming across my arms and legs as I beat my adversaries away.
My skin seemed to bubble up where their daggers plunged into me, sinking deep into my flesh.
I felt as though I was being drained slowly, a blood transfusion with the last half forgotten.
Images of zombies from classic horror movies, their dry, raggedy skin hanging from their bones, flitted through my mind as my attackers relentlessly surged about me.
I prayed that the injuries wouldn't be fatal and tried to beat back the onslaught as I sprinted for the building, now only yards away, but it was no use.
I swatted at them hopelessly, devoid of any weapons myself; punching, stomping, running...
Several of my pursuers fell away, dropping to the ground in hazes of blood, their faces smashing against hard pavement, but there were too many.
Just a few more steps.
It was getting dark now and I sped up, my heart racing, my feet slamming across the ground, sweat dripping off my face. My side felt like it was about to explode, breathing was becoming more and more forced.
More ground. More. Then it transitioned into the drive of the building and I painfully forced myself to go even faster, dashing for my only safe haven.
My hand shot out, grasping for the handle. Beating away another assailant I flung the door open and fell into the cool air, slipping and then slumping against a wall.
Fresh air wafted through the building, drying the sweat that had beaded up on my face.
I slammed the door closed with my foot and sat breathing heavily, my back to the wall, watching as my attackers pounded against the windows beneath the motion sensing lights that had come on when I darted inside.
My mother walked into the room, looking concerned.
"What's the matter with you? Are you okay"
I looked at her, thankful to finally be safe and uttered the three words that had been racing through my mind since I had entered the hotel parking lot.
"I hate mosquitoes."
© Jake Fox 2006, All Rights Reserved