Dark Days: Part 1

A dark cloud descended upon the city, dropping its blood red rain upon the heads of the inhabitants. Panic erupted in the streets. People running for shelter left and right. A little boy standing in the street, looking up at the sky, stares in amazement as the bright red drops bleed down from the heavens and drench him with their soft and delicate features. Then the boy wakes up. He looks around his darkened room, his senses distorted from awakening from such a vivid dream. He reaches for the switch on his lamp and flips it on.

Red everywhere. He was covered in blood from head to foot. His parents lay motionless on the floor, the knife used to kill them still in his hand. As he sat there in shock, he saw what appeared to be writing on the wall. It was his handwriting. “This is what happens when you wake me up” the bloody letters read. The boy thought he heard a faint voice in the distance, but quickly became distracted when he heard police sirens.

Quickly jumping out of bed, the boy ran to the bathroom. As fast as he could, he cleaned up the blood, changed clothes, and packed his backpack with food, water, and the remaining money from his father’s wallet. He had just begun exiting the house when the reality of his situation finally sank in. His parents were dead. And to make it worse, it appeared that he had killed them. He knew that he should have told them about the voice earlier, but when he tried the voice got angry, so very angry. He had wanted to warm them about the dark thoughts that were whispered in his head, to ask them for help, but he was scared that they would hate him, that they would not want him as a son anymore. But it was too late for that now. The only thought crossing his mind now was for him to run, to run as fast as he could.

To be continued?

Fiction | Short Stories


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