I wrote this story for my English GCSE creative writing coursework, based on the darkness of mans heart philosiphy from "Lord of the Flies", so I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cold wind blew across his face, like the harsh slap of resentment one gets when they become an outcast to those they were once part of. The newspaper he held was a weight on his tormented soul. He gazed down at the words, blurred by the tears. He was bemused as he did not regret what he did, so why was he crying? Under his coat, was a sawn off shotgun, with one barrel empty.

 

 

 

He turned his gaze to the sky, in which his once pure soul yearned for its freedom. The birds flew over and landed at the pond opposite him, pecking half heartedly at the crumbs of bread.

 

 

 

Out of his pocket he pulled a pocket watch. It was perfectly rounded, gold and extremely shiny. He delicately pressed the button on the top of the watch to reveal the face of guidance. The watch ticked round and round.

 

 

 

Tick.

 

 

 

Tick.

 

 

 

Tick.

 

 

 

Tick.

 

 

 

Round and round it went, his eyes following the dizzying pattern as the hands started changing direction and speeds and suddenly stopping, pointing at 12. And next to the hands was a picture of heart, but instead of gold, a black onyx was placed there. The onyx glowed in the midday light.

 

 

 

He snapped the watch shut. He stood up hurriedly, dropping the newspaper to the ground, where it fell in a puddle. The now smudged headline, read "Girl killed with sho" before the rest was obscured by the puddle.

 

 

 

The man stumbled into his greenhouse, clattering about, the drunken skunk, he thought as he watched from the shadows. The man fell down, in front of a small wooden box and proceeded to pour four lines of euphoria. He leant over, snorting happiness. He leant back, and yawned. With his mouth open, the shotgun barrel was pushed into it, and the trigger was pulled. As the balloon popped he ran out, leaving the shotgun behind.

 

 

 

"You know this is right, it is what I want to happen"

 

"But why?"

 

"This is how it will happen"

 

"Okay just tell me how"

 

 

 

"Why?!"

 

 

 

"Answer me!"

 

 

 

The radio fizzled into life and he jumped a mile into the roof of the car. He cursed under his breath, before crossing himself. He nervously fingered the crucifix which hung around his neck, bearing the weight of his sins. Cars flew past him on the freeway. As he slowed down and became stuck in a jam, the Tetris screen it became made him weary. His crucifix became undone and fell around the red button of the cigarette lighter. He lent forward and as he pushed the button; he thanked Jesus.

 

 

 

* * *

 

He was better than him. Always was. Always will. Whatever he had. Whatever he did, he was outclassed every year when the crops came, no matter how diligently he and his ants worked, the other anthill became a conglomerate of overpriced trinkets. There was no sign of him abstaining from flaunting the wealth he had accumulated. Be he had a Knife. A small silver four inch blade, with a heart shaped onyx embedded in the handle.

 

 

 

He found the blade on a sunny day in the fields. As he hoed the torrid brown earth, he saw the glinting metal. He bent down and picked it up, cradling the baby. He was perplexed was it to how it got there and why.

 

 

 

He immediately headed to the blacksmiths to sell it. He raised a hammer to knock the onyx out; the glistening eye changed his mind. He put down the hammer and walked of holding the knife. With its almost infinite majesty, his sense of content was shattered in an instant: Now he plotted.

 

 

 

Back at the farm, he saw him; Leaning on the window from the outside of his house; talking to her. His fist clenched in rage, he dived into a bale of hay and watched. They stood there for hours talking; he could not get a chance to strike. His anger against him spawned as the love child of greed and envy: He would not let this moment pass.

 

 

 

A Dark nigh ensured, with clouds buffeted by the wind into great citadels in the sky. The moon appeared, half covered by clouds as if it was bound by a gag. A cold mist swept across the farm, making it almost impossible to see more than twenty feet in front of you.

 

 

 

Crunch!

 

 

 

The prey heard its hunter and leapt of the path. The hunter sprang after it, shovel and knife in hand. The claws of war were no weight upon him, as anger flooded through his muscles. The trees were barely visible in the mist, and the prey tripped and landed on top of the bog. He floundered about, trying to escape, but as he rose up, the light in the dark came through. He screamed as the dagger now protruded form his chest like a rhinoÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s horn.

 

 

 

The hunter leapt, swinging the shovel like a might behemoth. It connected with the preys face and broke its nose with a mighty crunch. The bittersweet victory was his.

 

 

 

The preys tongue lolled out, and the now repeating blows on him felt like the norm. He was sinking into bog, slowly suffocating on a mixture blood, mud and fear. He grabbed the hunterÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s leg and yanked him down into the bog with him.

 

 

 

As both men slipped into the abyss, neither would give in as they would never give in, as long as money and women were involved.

 

 

 

* * *

 

As the darkened sun rose over the mountains, the nuclear gust blew through. Its epic journey continued through a coppice of barren trees, illuminating it with the soft radioactive glow. The birds awoke and began to squawk. The birds had two heads, but each head sang at a different time to each other, so the wilderness was filled with the onslaught of the heathen ritual.

 

 

 

World war three had devastated the earth, with tens of thousands craters, having to be filled with concrete to create a place to live for people. On the one, there was a raised mound in the middle, where a ramshackle church twisted and turned in the sky, where the towers pierced the smog clouds: He was kept prisoner here.

 

 

 

Brooding:

 

 

 

Always brooding.

 

 

 

He stalked around his room, the towering shelves of learned men arched over him, with a monotone grin of contempt. He gave these books no regard, yet if he was to read them, then it would set him free from this wretched predicament.

 

 

 

The thought of revenge was the only thing that helped keep his tenacious grip on his sanity. The life he led was not enjoyable, let alone a life at all. But then he saw it; a glinting piece of metal reaching out of the depths of despair. He lifted the ancient tome and opened it to find the brass bookmark, sitting inconspicuously, its little black onyx heart absorbing the setting suns light.

 

 

 

As he read the page he found the bookmark on, his eyes lit up with fires of passion. He dropped the book and sped over to a pile of items. He began work, work to relieve his weary soul.

 

 

 

The hall was packed to the brim people, hoods covering their accursed faces. They sat on ramshackle pews, covered in grime and blood, blood of the hundreds who died to build the wretched town. Up on the podium, an old man stepped up to the lectern. His face was wrinkled beyond measure by the radiation. His eyes were a misty, but luminescent green. It had been solidly raining for days and the water dripped through the dilapidated onto his ripped and dirty robes.

 

 

 

" Brothers and sisters, why do you shelter in here?"

 

 

 

"The rain" chorused the rabble.

 

 

 

" You brought the rain upon yourselves , with you sordid affairs in this holy town I built for you"

 

 

 

" We built it!"

 

 

 

"You did nothing"

 

 

 

"SILENCE!" Bellowed the old man, the rafters shaking under his gale of words.

 

 

 

"I found you all, saved you and you now repay me with treachery and belittlement? Well you shall now suffer"

 

 

 

"No they wonÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t" echoed the voice coming from the spiral staircase.

 

 

 

"You!" hissed the old man.

 

 

 

"Yes me"

 

 

 

" YouÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢re a tenacious little s**t who I should have killed years ago" he snarled

 

 

 

" But you didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t, and that was a grave error for you"

 

 

 

He yanked at the string he exploded in a ball of light. The blast shattered all the windows, sending shards of glass into the cruel wind. The walls collapsed with the hammer blow of revenge. The spine of the building snapped and the misshapen roof tiles fell to the ground, killing many of the mutantÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s, who screamed for their lives.

 

 

 

After several months of work the church was rebuilt again. He naÃÆÃâÃâïvely thought that the old man was problem, but the people still wanted the promised lies to be true. And so the crippled old man cackled maniacally, when he though of the foolish child.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The sea crashed on the rocks outside the cave. The Roman watch tower ignored the glowing light, as when the crazy hermit emerged, he brought some of the most finely smithed items they had ever seen.

 

 

 

The inside of the cave contained a small bed made of stone in one corner, with a thin, disheveled blanket. There was a giant furnace coming out of the stone wall, like the jaws of a volcano. There was also a whetstone, the always turning menace of work. There was an anvil, with a hammer sprawled across it. Above this was a painting of a burning forest by a beach.

 

 

 

He had learned to live with this life. The monotony of the whetstone meant sleep was practically impossible, so he bed was covered with ledgers of sales of the items he made. The cave had turned him into an excellent blacksmith, but for this he earned insomnia and insanity.

 

 

 

He stepped through the cave entrance dragging a body. He pulled it to in front of the furnace and pulled out a large knife. He cut into the body and pulled out a small heart-shaped onyx.

 

 

 

"Another bad life" he muttered as he put the onyx into a small gold pocket watch before taking it and other items out to the market, to make their way into the world.

spooky and creepy! I love stories about the evil of man, because it is so true!

 

 

 

However, some grammar and spelling errors, you used words that are not misspelled, but are misspelled for the word you want.

Spelling and grammer are not my strong point :oops:, but this coursework was marked on content, so I was not checking it too much

Content is A+ I assure you.

I hope so, as the rest of my coursework was all A grade, I just to do hte exams this year, damn poetry anthology

Awesome...i loved that.