So I've decided to try my hand in a little suspence. This is my first, though, so don't expect anything tooooo amazing.
Smoke. Burning. Screams. It was the end...
The roar of a train rushed past. The wind created ruffled his hair and blew on his coat. He didn't move. His face was impassive as he stared ahead, not seeing anything. Screams. Fire. Burning. He tensed. Help! Help! It wouldn't go away. Smoke. Shadows growing larger and larger. Why wouldn't it go away! His eyes snapped open and his fist slowly unclenched, the small imprints of nails left on his hand. He looked around. The station was empty. He missed the train.
He walked back to his house, his bag trailing on the ground behind him. The sky was blue and clear, not a single cloud in sky. In the distance he could see dark clouds of heavy smoke. The streets were packed. The streets were empty. People avoided him like the plague, seemingly able to sense the air of foreboding around him. The hustle and bustle of the city was lost on him. He was unable to hear. Unable to see. Except the... Yellow, red, orange flames licking at their skin. A hand reaches out, looking for someone, ANYONE! to save him from his fate. A hand was placed on his shoulder, the worried voice of a stranger washing over him. A hand... A hand! He tore away from the hand that gripped him in place and raced down the sidewalk, away from the burning flesh. The screams. The murderer... His bag bounced at his heels. He hastily shoved past people.
Away, away, away, he chanted, far, far away from here! But it was no use. A twig snapped and the murderer looked up. Face half hidden in shadows, he looked up and spotted the lean teen running, quite literally, for his life. Heart pounding, muscles aching, lungs burning... Burning... Burning! Sweat ran down his face in rivers, but it did nothing to cool the blazing flames.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" he yelled. His were eyes squeezed shut, hands clasped tightly over his ears, desperately trying to ward off the nonexistent screams. He was long passed the rest of civilization, overshot his house by a least a mile. His bag had dropped somewhere forgotten, but he just kept running. That's all he could do. Run, run, run he had to get away! He pushed past his aching lungs and heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears. He had one goal only and that was to get away! Away from him! Away from the heat, away from the stench!
The teenager had lost his sense of self or of anyone around him. He could no longer distinguish the difference between the reality and that night. His mind was stuck in only the thoughts of that night and was unable to function. His body could only react. He had to run. He couldn't stop. Not now, not ever. If he stopped he would... HE HAD TO RUN!
He fell and landed on his stomach, hard. Bile rose to his mouth, the sick taste impossible to wipe away. He knelt on his hands and knees and retched. The unmistakable smell coming back, the bodies ablaze... Why can't he get them out of his head! He had to run! He shakily got up, his limbs quivering from overuse. He took a hesitant step forward, then collapsed. He could go no further. He couldn't run. He couldn't get away... He was done for... He looked up and saw him. The face of the murderer.
Smoke. Burning. A single scream... It was the end.
Ta- da!! Tell me what you think. Construtive criticism is welcome, however, no flames. (Haha, flames...)
