PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sitting in the darkness, she listened to the rapid beating of her own heart while waiting.

“Is he gone?” She thought to herself while breathing heavily.  

She could hear the clock on the wall ticking faintly in the room beside her. The young girl crouched down onto the cold, wooden floor behind a small kitchen table.  Sweat gathered on her brow, as each second seemed to painfully drag by.  Her dark brown hair clung uncomfortably to her face and neck as she waited, but she didn’t dare move a muscle.  Other then the sound of the clock, the house was full of absolute silence.  As she stooped in the feeble hiding place, she noticed the candle on the table.  It had recently gone out, and thin wisps of smoke curled off of it, caressing the air as it disappeared into nothingness.  She wished that she could just escape into that nothingness along with it, if only to escape the bleak fate that destiny had bestowed upon her.  The girl closed her frightened green eyes and clutched the long, deep blue tablecloth that hung down from the table.    

“What time is it?”  She asked herself nervously.  “How long have I been sitting here?”  

Looking toward the front door, she could see light from the early morning outlining the bottom of the door, giving the illusion of sanctuary’s doorway, her only escape from this nightmare.  The beckoning light went no further then a centimeter though, and gave her little comfort.  Slowly, she stood up and peeked up over the table, being careful as to not make any sounds that would give away her position.  The darkness around her seemed to be closing in, and she scooted backwards to the wall behind her.  The meager house suddenly seemed suffocating as the clock continued to tick softly.    She strained her ears desperately for any abnormal sounds.  Her mind was fogged over from shock though, and she was having difficulty thinking clearly.  Nothing seemed to make sense, and she wondered if this was all just a dream.

“No…not a dream.  I need to think clearly.  Where did he go?  He could be hiding anywhere.”  She thought tensely.  

A thin strand of light ebbed through a crack in the sealed window just to her right.  Daylight was approaching soon, and bad things never happened during the day.  Did they?  She could see dust fly peacefully through the light, off into the dark abyss beyond. It was difficult to believe that just the other day her and her family had sat down to supper together...So happy.  That was gone though now, and she had to get her thoughts straight if she would make it out of this alive.  Surveying the room slowly, and taking extra time to inspect each darkened area, her eyes tried to penetrate the gloom.  The girl trembled each time she thought the slightest trick of light to be him.  She couldn’t decide what was real and what was simply a figment of her imagination.  

The clock was beginning to drive her insane,

“Why won’t it shut up?!” She screamed inside her head.

A movement in the corner!  She was sure of it…Or was it just another trick of the light?  

“I have to get out of here!” She realized frantically.  

Cautiously, she inched her way around the table, but found it rather difficult as her dress clung to her legs.  Striving to ignore it, she stepped quietly through the kitchen entrance and over toward the front door.  As she approached, she reached for the doorknob with a damp hand. Just as she began to grasp it, she felt quick, yet burning flash of pain in her upper back.  The door became nothing more than a blurry dream, and swayed off to the side out of her reach.  She had been so close.  The girl stumbled backwards only to bump into somebody, and turning her head slightly upward, she looked into her father’s emotionless eyes.  He loomed over her, his once gentle and loving face darkened by the lack of sunlight.  

“Why...daddy?” She questioned weakly, “Why?”  

Her father ripped the knife from her back carelessly, and let her drop to the floor with a heavy thud.  Her blood dripped from his knife down beside her body.  She attempted to look up at him as tears flowed from her eyes, but the pain was too great.  The girl closed her eyes for a moment, then felt a searing pain rush through her body once more.  She opened up her heartbroken orbs once more to see her father bent down over her, the knife stabbed into her side now.  She coughed up blood, and that in itself sent another wave of pain screaming through her small form.  The girl closed her eyes for the last time as the pain slowly faded away.  She smiled gently at the release and felt a little colder than before.  

“Is this the end?”  She asked herself feebly.

As she lay there dying, she wondered if her father remembered it was her birthday today.  How ironic, she thought, that she should die on the day of her birth.  Slowly, darkness took over, and she let out her last remaining breath, thinking that her father did not love her.  A pool of blood spread out slowly around her, pouring over the floorboards in a dark, beautiful mass.

Looking down at the body of the dead girl, the man did not recognize his own daughter, and he did not seem to realize that he had just murdered his own wife and children. Carelessly, he stood and stepped over the body of his child and opened the front door, flooding the room with saffron light from the early morning sun.  He stepped outside leaving the door open and looked around, not recognizing the forest in which he grew up in that surrounded the once happy home.  He breathed in the crisp, chilly air deeply, and somehow seemed quite content.  The man gave a slight smile as if he had just completed a difficult task, and would receive a well-deserved reward.  As the sound of hoofs approached from the distance though, he felt an intense pain within his skull, and collapsed onto the ground.



Yasha groaned in confusion as she awoke on the bare, polished oak floor of her home.  Sunlight streamed in through the open window to her right, cheerfully filling the area.  As she sat up, her hair clung to the side of her face by some unknown substance.  Looking down slowly, she saw her arms and hands covered in a thick crimson liquid, which she quickly realized to be, in fact, blood.  With another groan from the migraine that pulsed behind her eyes, she rose weakly to her unsteady feet.

“…What—What happened?”  She asked out loud, though nobody was around to answer her.  

The house was unbearably quiet, and the air seemed as thick as butter, making it hard for her to breathe... And what was that smell?  Yasha looked around the room cautiously, perplexed as to what was going on.  Except for the echoing clank of horse hoofs on the cobblestone road just a bit away from her house, she could notice no other signs of life.  The fireplace beside her had recently gone out, and the smoke from it gently curled up the fireplace to the world outside.  Still confused, Yasha looked down and realized that in her hand was a thick wooden rod.  The rod was slick with blood, and glistened beautifully as the sunlight from outside touched it.  There were a couple of dents placed into the weapon.  From where they came though, she had not a clue.  Yasha’s scarlet hand gripped the rod fearfully, and she held onto it so tightly that her knuckles began turning white.  She stood there puzzled, just staring down at the wooden thing that so offended her heart, although she didn’t know why.  

“Who…does this blood belong to…?”  She wondered, her fear rising with each passing moment.

Yasha looked left, toward the dinning area of her house, and saw a fine mist of blood covering the back wall.  Droplets of blood ran down the pine-wood, escaping behind the table from her sight.  Along with the gruesome site, she finally realized that the appalling smell was the dreadful stench of death.  She stared at the abstract painting of blood for a moment.

“What the hell happened!?” She asked to the seemingly empty house.  “Hello?  Michael?”  

Carefully, she stepped toward the dinning room.  Her home seemed utterly void of sound now, and the room seemed to darken as she neared what lay ahead.  Looking before her, she screamed horrified at the sight that was revealed, dropping the rod.  It fell to the floor with a loud thump that echoed in the desolate room.  Yasha ran to the body of her beloved husband, and saw right away, that he had been beaten to death.  His head was no longer even recognizable; it was simply a bloody lump of battered flesh. Pieces of his shattered skull lay strewn about on the floor.  All over, she could see where he had been struck repeatedly.  His arms where discolored in many distinct places, the cause quite apparent.  

“Oh no…!”  She cried out in the voice of a woman who just lost the dearest love of her life.  

“Oh please...PLEASE NO!”