PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You’re in your house. It’s raining outside. It’s the storm of the year, the weather girl had said, the biggest one in ten years. You’re sitting on the couch staring at nothing, you don’t know what to do. Your best friend had gone out hours ago, saying she’d be back in minutes. She’s not back and your anxiety grows with each second that passes. What happened? Is she ok? Did she get lost? That’s impossible though, the store is five minutes away. The wind picks up. You’re afraid.

The trees start making loud noises against the window; you run to them and make sure they’re locked. Everything’s going to be ok you tell yourself. There’s a flash of light and suddenly everything goes black, great, the electricity is out. You try not to think about the fact that you’re alone in the dark and curse yourself for not bringing candles with you. There’s a grandfather clock near you, tick tock tick tock. It’s really not helping your patience right now. You try to go back to the couch, but you don’t quite remember where it was, you stumble until you find it again.

You hear something, “Who’s there?” you ask softly. Nothing happens. Of course nothing would happen, it’s the storm, you’re imagining things, there’s nothing out there, there’s nobody out there. Nothing nothing noth-. There’s a loud bang, there is something out there oh god. “Who’s there!?” you scream this time. Another bang.

Someone is trying to force the door open, suddenly one of the window breaks and you scream as the rain starts to get inside, was it the storm or the person outside? You stagger around the house looking for the drawer where your friend keeps important stuff, there’s a gun in there, protection, you fumble as you take it, you’ve never used it in your life it belongs to your friend, in case of an emergency, she said, you’re pretty sure this counts as one. Someone is still at the door and you freeze when you hear the telltale sound of wood breaking.

You turn around, there’s a silhouette at the door and it’s moving slowly towards you. You’re rooted to the ground, the gun heavy in your hand. The wind knocks a tree down near the house, leafs and branches falling in through the broken window, the figure lifts a hand, reaching towards you, you shriek, close your eyes, and shoot wildly.

There’s a gasp of surprise? Pain? You’re not sure. You open your eyes and feel the blood leave your face. Your best friend is lying on the floor, a poodle of blood slowly forming around her.