Hello! In this contest, you simply write from the point of a villain, morally grey character, or one that's psychotic (or something similar). Have fun! Explore your character, and just really enjoy yourself.
My story - First chapter of my *drafted* book.
I skip through the crowded streets, getting a few awkward looks. I don’t care, I never care, as my sister Lucy is right next to me. Me and Lucy spend a LOT of time together. She’s the only person who doesn’t think I’m weird. We have tea parties and play in the woods! Not to mention when we play with knives. The red, sticky liquid oozes out and we both giggle at it. Oh, how I love hanging out with her!
My long white hair brushes up against my ankles as we walk through the street. I look over at Lucy, and she makes a silly face. I start giggling, as the face is so utterly funny. She doesn’t normally do anything silly. A few heads turn, but we don’t care.
“Oh Lucy, you’re being funny for once!” She smiles at that, but it looks bittersweet. A few minutes later, she trying to get my attention. She tries that a lot. I normally ignore her, so I don’t know why I decided to look this time.
“Oh look!” She points over at a particularly large willow tree. She loves climbing into the trees, escaping to her own happy place. She’s always happier in them, so I don’t normally oblige to climbing one. “We should go climb it! First one to the top wins!” I already knew that was coming.
We both break into a run, me holding my lavender dress up to keep from tripping. I put my left foot onto a sturdy branch, scrambling to climb fast enough. She’s always faster than me. It pisses me off. Branch by branch, I persist up towards the top. By the time I make it to the top branch, Olive is sticking out her tongue at me. Why couldn’t she just let me with this time.
“I beat you!” The taunt pokes one of my many buttons. She does her best to victory dance, which makes me angry.
“So what? It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yeah, it is! It shows how much better I am than you.” She isn’t better than me. She likes to believe that, but she’s not. It makes me angry whenever she acts like she’s superior, as her ego gets bigger. Way bigger, in fact, that it’s 10x that of an average person’s. I can’t let her win over me emotionally, though.
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, you do. Your left eye is twitching. I only twitches when you’re SUPER annoyed.”
“No, it’s not.” Deny, deny, deny. The one thing people are taught from early on. If you keep denying your feelings, they won’t show up. They won’t be true, so you can get away with your petty lies.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m still better than you.” There she goes again with her ego. It makes me want to push her off the very branch she’s standing on. She keeps taunting and taunting, making me angrier and angrier. Ugh, her nerve!
“STOP IT!” I yell, before giving into temptation. I push her out of the tree, her surprised expression making me smile. She falls and hits the ground, crumbling into the grass beneath her. I smile down at her. That’s much better. No more ego, just a sad heap of what used to be a very arrogant person.
I begin to climb down when I slip, desperately grabbing onto a tree branch. The hard bark is the only thing keeping me from plummeting to the ground with her. My leg twists and I can hear a cracking sound. The sound is beautiful, but the pain accompanying it is not. I attempt to stand, but that bittersweet feeling shoots up through my leg. I lean on the very tree I just fell out of to try and regain my bearings.
I look at my surroundings. I see a few fallen sticks and decide to use them to help me get around. I tap Olive on the face. She groans a bit. Good, she’s not fully dead yet.
“Why did you do that?” She asks me, and I almost explode. I don’t though, because that would be weird.
“Because it knocked your ego down a bit.” It felt good to say that, smiling at the hurt on her face. I turned around and headed towards the wood. There are tales of a witch that can give you help with your problems, so she might be able to help with my (most definitely) broken leg. I begin on my way to the supposed cottage, hoping that I can find at least SOME help.
I see something shift within the shadows. I frantically look around, trying to catch whatever stupid this is deciding to mess with me whenever someone has already shattered my good mood. I grunt and keep walking, as my eyes are just playing tricks on me. I keep walking, only to see the shadows move again.
“Who’s there?” I ask, half of me not wanting to know. I wait a few minutes, not hearing anything. I only see the shadows shift. I keep hobbling to the witch’s lair, the tree branches I grabbed barely holding me up. One of them splinters, and that’s when I decide I need to take a break. I find a nearby bench and sit down, breath heaving.
A few minutes later, a man approaches. He looks to be around thirty, with strawberry blonde hair and a smile that tells me he has something bad in mind. I blink a few times, wondering if he was approaching me, or if he’s just sitting on the bench.
“Hello.” His voice is deep and raspy, and all the warning bells in my head go off.
“What do you want?” I ask, half of me not wanting to know.
“I just want you, love.” Ugh. He’s like, 11 years older than me. No thanks, you’re gross. I don’t say that though. Instead, I grab my knife out of my shoe and hold it against his neck. The cool steel feels nice in my hand.
“Listen to me carefully, old man. If you ever say anything like that to me again, your head will be on a dinner plate.” With that, I flick my knife against his neck, just enough to break through his flesh a tiny bit and cause him to bleed. I get up and leave, moving as fast as my branch will allow.
I keep hobbling, time going on for what feels like hours. A wave of relief washes over me when I finally make it to the edges of the wood. The was worth it though, as the woods are beautiful. The pine trees towering above me create a canopy of beautiful sage green. We’re out of the Willows territory now, I guess. It may be a good thing. A change of pace. A breath of fresh air. Despite the beauty, I miss my long, winding willow trees.
The stones are sharp against my feet, but it feels nice in a way. Like an anchor, keeping me from dissociating (or worse). The sun begins to sink in the sky, and with it comes a cloud of calm. The starburst sky looking like it was painted with watercolors. I make it to change in the path, looking up to see a beautiful little cottage, adorned with vines. This must be the witch’s cottage. But a witch mustn’t live here. I don’t care. After traveling for so long, I’m glad that I’m finally here! I walk up to the door, admiring the cracked stone walls and ivy vines.
As I’m making my way up to the door, I trip on a small stone I didn’t notice was even there. I hit the ground, banging my head on the door before blacking out. My white hair cascades to the ground around me, leaving me in a sea of white, purple, and a little red too.
So, of course, a dream begins playing in my head. It’s of the old days. I always dream of the old days. The days before I killed my parents. When they had tortured me, made me think that I was worthless. That’s why I did it. The darkness reminds me of the day that I stood in front of what seemed to be an eternal flame.
I look around my old living room, knowing immediately what’s happening. The crack of whip barely even surprises. I feel a red-hot kind of hurt, and it’s annoying how it persists even when I’m in a dream.
I see myself holding the tiny flame, the one thing that brought my entire reality to the ground. I hear the screams of my parents as the flames finally lick their faces. I see the melting wax and the burning wood. I smell the smoke, the burnt food, all of it. I feel the tears falling off my face.
I feel the road as my feet hit it, gaining many cuts and scrapes. I feel the cool night air whipping around my hair in the dead of night. I see the faces of the crooks I had to get through to ensure my safety. It’s even as if I’m coughing up the pollution in the air.
All of it is flashbacks. Of my past. Of what I used to be. Of the life I used to live. I tell myself that’s not me. That I don’t still have anger issues, murderous tendencies, or the need to fight for my survival. None of that is true, but only I must believe it, right? I don’t know anymore.
As the dream concludes I have nothing left to remember. Nothing left to cry or scream about. Nothing but cold darkness. Nothing but the feeling that something’s broken within me. I guess that’s how every night ends, though I don’t know if I can make it through another night like this.
And with that, everything is gone.103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiMLhpZXj1Y
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