More terrible formatting from Angel-Of-Darkness. I need some motivation to write more of this (19 pages so far, I think).
I lay in the darkness of the attic,
breathing in the stale smell of smoke, the dirty scent of feathers and the
bittersweet reeking of large amounts of blood and rotting flesh.
I felt sick, swallowing back the
vomit working its way up my throat. I was drenched in a cold sweat. This can’t
be real; stuff like this is only in horror movies, isn’t it?
I very slowly opened my sore eyelids.
I was still in the attic, still with that horrible blood-rot-smoke-filth scent
trying to choke me. As I opened my eyes fully, I saw that the creatures were
still there, leering at me with their heavily-lidded, black eyes.
The dead angel still lay, roughly
thrown in the stack of hay, her rotting body twisted so awkwardly that it
seemed distorted, clumps of dirty white feathers falling from her wings,
revealing scabbed, scaly flesh.
The other angels stared long and hard
at me, their emaciated bodies poised for a fight, every muscle tautened,
fingers bent into clawed fists, each one tipped with a three inch talon, hard
and sharp as bone, varying in colours.
Don’t make any sudden movementsI told myself, inside my head.Just try and stay calm.
I very slowly tried to get up. The
angels were still poised for a fight. I ached all over, new bruises in varying
shades of blue-black and yellow-lilac-grey-brown were beginning to blossom on
my pale skin, and there was hot blood running down my face.
As I stood up, the angels surrounded
me. I stood, bleeding and trembling violently. They were going to kill me.
The dead angel, the weak one that
they had ruthlessly killed, was still lying on the haystack. I had a feeling
that I was soon going to be a corpse, clawed apart and left to die. I had to
escape from the attic. I needed to get downstairs. Then I could tell somebody,
and hopefully end this nightmare.