⌜Writing Practice || Scenarios, Poems, Etc.⌟

☆ The Horror That Is You [SHORT] ☆

2nd Person POV

"Come out."

You struggled to hold in your fearful whimpers as you heard the beast call out for you while it roams around the hallways of your desolated home. You were hidden in a closet; safe and sound, but unsure for how long.

"Why are you afraid, Brandon?"

The thing continued to roam around, every step it takes with its legs echoing. You were in tears. Why did you decide to go back? Why did you even try to confront your fears? You were filled with regretful and fearful thoughts, running through your mind like a reckless hurricane.

You were then distracted by a loud bang and covered your mouth and nose. It's here.

"Brandon..." it whispered in a sing-song tone.

Do not make a noise. Do not make any noise.

"Come out, Brandon. Your family will forget you if you don't come out."

You continued to stay put in the dark and cold closet. What does that thing know about your family? They love you, don't they? They have always loved you. They will never forget you, right?

You heard sounds of bedsheets being thrown aside, followed by the thing's irritated groans.

"Brandon...don't make your mother angry."

You shudder at its words, despite knowing how low that possibility may be. You're an adult. Your mother doesn't care about you. Your mother is too busy to care. Your mother doesn't love you.

The hurricane of negativity inside your head slowly manifests itself into tears which run down your cheeks. You don't want to think about her. Not again. You were healing, why are you thinking of her again? You're healing. Healing. Healing.

To your horror, the closet door swings open.

You gasp in shock as the thing looms over you. It was tall; too tall for it to even fit in the closet with you. Its hair was as dark as the void, tangled up like a thorn bush. Its eyes, glowing red, were bulging out and staring at you with burning hatred. Its mouth was curved into a wide, unnatural, sinister grin, dripping with loads of saliva. It had a hand on each of its four, long limbs, with fingers curled inwards like a hawk's. 

The thing looked like something out of this world, but its true origins were in fact familiar.

It resembled a human.

It resembled a flawed, imperfect human.

It resembled a twisted monstrosity.

The twisted, imperfect monstrosity that is you.

"Brandon...you cannot run from yourself."