Creative Writing Collection

Crimson Rain

       The woods were quiet, dark; as if it were its own planet. Its own world.

       The Woods of Broken Dreams, where everything dead and demolished went to

       Vidia loved to roam the open, destructed area. No happiness in sight but her own, no joy nor smile but her own. Because she ruled these lands. A Daughter of Darkness, a demon, a temptress, the Marionette, the Queen of a forgotten land.

       She could sense it was about to rain. In her broken and reformed heart, she could feel the pressure change. The barren and lifeless trees curled and moved like hands reaching out to the sky in empty prayer. No one can save you, not here. Her tattered dress was caught in the tumbling wind, pale skin reflecting the moonlight as her matted hair hung in strings on her head.

       Beside her toddled a little wooden puppet, an eye missing and its mouth hinge broken so that it hung open in a horrific gape. The one eye that remained kept a steady gaze on Vidia. Odd sounds came from its open hole; not human, not animalistic.

       “Yes, my pet, it will rain soon—you must be patient to play,” she said softly, giving the slightest of glances.

There was a scream somewhere. No — thunder. Then stronger, more pained yells echoed through the night. There were no clouds. Vidia smiled, and she could hear the sounds of twigs and dead brush, dry earth shifting, moans. Her children were here to celebrate the rain. They smiled and grinned wickedly, or snarled; their golden eyes surrounded the area. At last, the final, dying cry of thunder, and all of it came down.

The rain. The crimson rain. The blood rain.

Heads tilted back, mouths open, Vidia and children both lapped up the thick, bloody richness that fell. It got in her hair, in their pelts, their teeth and paws and claws, and it stained their very being. Skin a vibrant, shinning red, drenched in the blood of the forgotten, the rare rain began to stop.

Vidia’s forked tongue licked away the remains, and her children eased away into the woods with renewed savagery. The puppet was now quiet and still, laying in the stickiness of the crimson fluid. Silent. Sleeping. Full. Dreaming.

She smiled at it. “Sleep well, and have wonderful nightmares…”