Mark's Intro
Horror, Abstract and Thriller
Mark died again.He was getting tired of this. Mark Stone stood over his body, just staring at it. He looked at the bullet hole in his temple, now oozing blood, turning his light, red, curly hair into a a dark, rusty colored mess. He then turned his gaze to the gun in his left hand, a simple service pistol he stole from his friend that was a police officer. He sighed, and waited for it to happen. The same thing that always happens. First, a bright light that seems to come from everywhere at once is going to blind him. Then theres going to be one of those silly little angels standing next to him, saying something along the lines of blah blah blah, not your time, something something make God proud, scripture scripture don't do it again. well, He's done it 6 times already. This was the seventh. He would always shoot himself, end up standing over his lifeless, thin little body, have the meeting with the angel, and wake up the next day in a pool of blood. So he stood and waited...but it never happened.
Mark waited. Eventually, he started to think. Maybe this was the end? Maybe he'll actually stay dead this time?
"Mark..."
He turned. The voice that spoke his name was more like a rasp, and hard to hear, but he deffinitely heard it. He almost asked who was there, untill it spoke again.
"You were told... not to do it again..."
Now he was scared. "Not to do what again?" he asked stupidly, trying half heartedly to play dumb. It was now that he began to notice that the room was changing color... everything was turning a rust color.. like his hair. Everything he could see was turning the color of blood. Suddenly everything went black and he felt like he was falling. He saw nothing... Heard nothing...tasted nothing... smelled nothing.. only felt the feeling that he was falling. And all he felt inside was this feeling of fear, this snake inside him, twisting and coiling its way through him, eating and swallowing any hope that he used to have. Now he wanted to see the angel. His life suddenly didn't seem so bad.
Then he landed. He still couldn't see, but he could sure as hell feel something. He tried to move, and heard the rattle of chains and felt braces on his wrist and ankles. He was handcuffed to something. He sat there for what felt like hours, sitting in this cold, damp room, tied down like a dog. Suddenly he shivered. It was getting colder. Then he heard the screams. Faint at first, but growing louder as it grew colder. Now he was shaking. He put his palm on the floor and jerked it back up in the air. The floor was ice!
"Where am I?"
And that was the last three words that he could say. The only other thing his ice cold vocal cords could be used for at this point would be screaming. Which they did, when he heard what was next... it was the rasp again.
"Congratulations. You've succeeded in killing yourself. Now you work for me."
Mark waited. Eventually, he started to think. Maybe this was the end? Maybe he'll actually stay dead this time?
"Mark..."
He turned. The voice that spoke his name was more like a rasp, and hard to hear, but he deffinitely heard it. He almost asked who was there, untill it spoke again.
"You were told... not to do it again..."
Now he was scared. "Not to do what again?" he asked stupidly, trying half heartedly to play dumb. It was now that he began to notice that the room was changing color... everything was turning a rust color.. like his hair. Everything he could see was turning the color of blood. Suddenly everything went black and he felt like he was falling. He saw nothing... Heard nothing...tasted nothing... smelled nothing.. only felt the feeling that he was falling. And all he felt inside was this feeling of fear, this snake inside him, twisting and coiling its way through him, eating and swallowing any hope that he used to have. Now he wanted to see the angel. His life suddenly didn't seem so bad.
Then he landed. He still couldn't see, but he could sure as hell feel something. He tried to move, and heard the rattle of chains and felt braces on his wrist and ankles. He was handcuffed to something. He sat there for what felt like hours, sitting in this cold, damp room, tied down like a dog. Suddenly he shivered. It was getting colder. Then he heard the screams. Faint at first, but growing louder as it grew colder. Now he was shaking. He put his palm on the floor and jerked it back up in the air. The floor was ice!
"Where am I?"
And that was the last three words that he could say. The only other thing his ice cold vocal cords could be used for at this point would be screaming. Which they did, when he heard what was next... it was the rasp again.
"Congratulations. You've succeeded in killing yourself. Now you work for me."
