Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Action & Adventure
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 03/07/2015
I’m on the street, under the stars.
Born 2000, M, from London, United KingdomDaniel stumbles forwards, his legs almost too weak to carry him. He hasn't eaten or slept in days. Hasn't felt the warm, carefree, safety of home in weeks, but he can’t go back. Not after what he’s done. He knows that. Images of the boy lying there, blood staining the ground around him, flood his head, but he pushes the thoughts aside. “Concentrate,” he tells himself, “Stay awake.” If he falls asleep now he might never wake up. The snow would swallow him up, hiding any trace that he had even existed, until it melted away in the spring. He pushes on up the hill, towards the large building at the top. As he nears it, he sees clear signs of disrepair and abandonment. The windows are covered up with rotting planks of wood, and the door is hanging off its hinges. Daniel smiles to himself as he enters.
To anyone else this would be the last place they would want to spend the night, but to Daniel it is a safe haven, an opportunity for some much needed rest. He gasps as he glimpses a few battered cans scattered across the filthy kitchen floor, and reaches for the old kitchen knife he found a few weeks ago. Picking up an out-of-shape can of fruit cocktail, he hastily cut the top off the can with a knife, his hands shaking in anticipation. Dropping the can-top on the floor, he raised the can to his lips and feels the juice sooth his cold, dry throat. He quickly empties the can, discarded it, and bends down for another--
He freezes. Had he imagined it? No. He listens carefully, and sure enough, another distinctive sound of creaking floorboards from upstairs, from right above him. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes dart around the room, desperately trying to find a less lethal weapon than the kitchen knife in his hand. He has had too much experience of the damage that can cause. His eyes settle on the rolling-pin in the corner of the room. He grabs it and creeps to the bottom of the stairs. He tries to calm his breathing but fails, instead choosing to pull his hoodie up over his mouth, hoping to muffle the sound. He makes his way up the old, uneven steps, his mind amplifying every tap or creak of the floorboards as he does so. As he reaches the landing he can hear voices coming from the room in front of him. He navigates his way around the broken glass and debris on the floor, and approaches the door, putting his ear to it in an attempt to hear what is being said.
It’s a thick, timber door, but he can make out the voices of a boy and a girl. Their voices stop and Daniel holds his breath, expecting the door to open at any second. Then suddenly he hears a loud whooshing sound, followed by laughter. Then again, with more laughter, and again. He can smell something now, a smoky, choking aroma. The sound comes again, but there is no laughter now. Instead, a piercing scream fills the air, sending a shiver up Daniels spine. He can’t just stand there and listen, so he raises the rolling-pin, grabs the door handle and bursts into the cramped room.
He cries out as he is hit by a wall of heat, and stumbles back. Orange flames are licking the dusty drapes by the window, and are steadily climbing higher. The floor is already starting to burn away, dropping charred flooring down into the kitchen below. Daniel is horrified to see two figures cowering on the far side of the room, their clothes already covered in soot and ash. “Come on,” he yelled, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt, “We've got to get out!” They remain where they are, too shocked to move. Daniel looks behind him, seriously considering running and leaving them, but the flames have all but disintegrated the dry, wooden staircase. He makes a mad leap over the ever-growing hole in the floor, patting off the flames on his clothes, and heads towards the window. He looks out and is relieved to see a bed of quickly melting snow just a few meters below. He runs over to the two teenagers huddled against the wall, and notices that they are not much younger than him. Fourteen years old at least.
He grabs the girl and sits her on the window sill, gesturing for her to jump down. She doesn't move. He gestures more urgently, but she stays where she is, shaking her head and pointing at the boy. Daniel groans in frustration and promptly pushes the girl out into the soft snow below. The boy shortly follows suit, with Daniels encouraging push. Daniel looks out the window and is relieved to see that they had both landed safely. He puts one foot on the window sill--
And an explosion ripped through the entire building, sending him flying through the air like a rag-doll, landing face up in the middle of the street. He tries to move but can’t. He tries to shout out, but can’t seem to summon the energy. He hears a siren in the distance, sees the flames of the building in front of him dancing in the moonlight, and on the street, under the stars, he closes his eyes.
I’m on the street, under the stars.(Mike)
Daniel stumbles forwards, his legs almost too weak to carry him. He hasn't eaten or slept in days. Hasn't felt the warm, carefree, safety of home in weeks, but he can’t go back. Not after what he’s done. He knows that. Images of the boy lying there, blood staining the ground around him, flood his head, but he pushes the thoughts aside. “Concentrate,” he tells himself, “Stay awake.” If he falls asleep now he might never wake up. The snow would swallow him up, hiding any trace that he had even existed, until it melted away in the spring. He pushes on up the hill, towards the large building at the top. As he nears it, he sees clear signs of disrepair and abandonment. The windows are covered up with rotting planks of wood, and the door is hanging off its hinges. Daniel smiles to himself as he enters.
To anyone else this would be the last place they would want to spend the night, but to Daniel it is a safe haven, an opportunity for some much needed rest. He gasps as he glimpses a few battered cans scattered across the filthy kitchen floor, and reaches for the old kitchen knife he found a few weeks ago. Picking up an out-of-shape can of fruit cocktail, he hastily cut the top off the can with a knife, his hands shaking in anticipation. Dropping the can-top on the floor, he raised the can to his lips and feels the juice sooth his cold, dry throat. He quickly empties the can, discarded it, and bends down for another--
He freezes. Had he imagined it? No. He listens carefully, and sure enough, another distinctive sound of creaking floorboards from upstairs, from right above him. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes dart around the room, desperately trying to find a less lethal weapon than the kitchen knife in his hand. He has had too much experience of the damage that can cause. His eyes settle on the rolling-pin in the corner of the room. He grabs it and creeps to the bottom of the stairs. He tries to calm his breathing but fails, instead choosing to pull his hoodie up over his mouth, hoping to muffle the sound. He makes his way up the old, uneven steps, his mind amplifying every tap or creak of the floorboards as he does so. As he reaches the landing he can hear voices coming from the room in front of him. He navigates his way around the broken glass and debris on the floor, and approaches the door, putting his ear to it in an attempt to hear what is being said.
It’s a thick, timber door, but he can make out the voices of a boy and a girl. Their voices stop and Daniel holds his breath, expecting the door to open at any second. Then suddenly he hears a loud whooshing sound, followed by laughter. Then again, with more laughter, and again. He can smell something now, a smoky, choking aroma. The sound comes again, but there is no laughter now. Instead, a piercing scream fills the air, sending a shiver up Daniels spine. He can’t just stand there and listen, so he raises the rolling-pin, grabs the door handle and bursts into the cramped room.
He cries out as he is hit by a wall of heat, and stumbles back. Orange flames are licking the dusty drapes by the window, and are steadily climbing higher. The floor is already starting to burn away, dropping charred flooring down into the kitchen below. Daniel is horrified to see two figures cowering on the far side of the room, their clothes already covered in soot and ash. “Come on,” he yelled, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt, “We've got to get out!” They remain where they are, too shocked to move. Daniel looks behind him, seriously considering running and leaving them, but the flames have all but disintegrated the dry, wooden staircase. He makes a mad leap over the ever-growing hole in the floor, patting off the flames on his clothes, and heads towards the window. He looks out and is relieved to see a bed of quickly melting snow just a few meters below. He runs over to the two teenagers huddled against the wall, and notices that they are not much younger than him. Fourteen years old at least.
He grabs the girl and sits her on the window sill, gesturing for her to jump down. She doesn't move. He gestures more urgently, but she stays where she is, shaking her head and pointing at the boy. Daniel groans in frustration and promptly pushes the girl out into the soft snow below. The boy shortly follows suit, with Daniels encouraging push. Daniel looks out the window and is relieved to see that they had both landed safely. He puts one foot on the window sill--
And an explosion ripped through the entire building, sending him flying through the air like a rag-doll, landing face up in the middle of the street. He tries to move but can’t. He tries to shout out, but can’t seem to summon the energy. He hears a siren in the distance, sees the flames of the building in front of him dancing in the moonlight, and on the street, under the stars, he closes his eyes.
COMMENTS (0)