I couldn’t stand the silence. My heartbeat filled the void. The pounding of the drum overshadowed reason. I wanted to run. Every muscle told me it was the safest way to escape with my life, because I knew what was out there. Cold, heartless death was inching closer to my hideaway. My hunter moved like a ghost, only appearing at the moment of the final, ending blow. It didn’t matter if I stayed or went, the silence would kill me.
Browsing Posts in Fiction
OVER AGAIN
H. Danielle Crabtree
There was something in the air, dark and twisted, unnatural. It reeked of rot, mold and earth, the aroma of the dead. Its pungent stench eclipsed the fresh scent of the falling rain, and Colin gasped. His hands began to shake; his inhales and exhales sharpened. He knew what was coming. It was the same thing that came for him every night.
He picked up his pace, careful not to trip on the broken chunks that were supposedly a sidewalk. The light rain turned into a steady downpour as he turned a corner into an alley. His heart raced with each step. If only he could make it home …
He never knew what to expect. Every night it was some different form of torture upon his soul. He knew what the morning would bring, but still, he wondered if this would be the last time. If tonight, he would escape the hellish punishment, the curse laid upon him.
He pulled his jacket closer around his body and took a deep breath, trying without success to quell his fear. He would never be numb to it; the way one was with everyday experiences. No, there was no immunity in this ever-changing, waking nightmare.
Get it over with, he thought as he glanced over his shoulder. He hated no knowing where the end would come from or what he should expect. You couldn’t outrun what you couldn’t see coming …
He tripped over a broken crate in the alley, landing in a puddle. His palms scraped against the fractured concrete. It scratched away his flesh, blooding his hands. He lifted himself up from the sodden trenches of the small byway, only making it to his knees when he saw the legs of a man standing before him.
Rising to his full height, Colin took in the rest of the darkened figure. The man was faceless; a hoodie obscured his features where the light dared to touch. His choice of black made him into a shadow among shadows, but Colin had no doubt that he was the hunter in his purgatory. In the gloved form of the man’s hand was a knife; the object Colin knew would serve as today’s fateful end.
***
Slowly Colin’s eyes fluttered open. He gripped the blankets as if tearing at them when his consciousness revealed his reality for what was now a countless number of times. He was in his bed, destined forever to wake up to the vision of the dilapidated ceiling and his own personal hell called life.
Colin laid there for a few minutes staring at the cracks and longing to escape his misery. Every day ended in his death, and every morning, he woke up here – doomed to repeat it all again.
He took a deep breath and gripped the blankets harder. His muscles quivered as if shredding the covers was the most exhausting act he had ever done. Anger, fear and pain filled him, and he felt as if he would go insane, if he wasn’t already.
He rose from his bed, walking to the bathroom, tripping over the trash and clothes that covered his floor as if he were a blind man. Finally reaching his destination, Colin stood in front of the mirror, staring at his haggard face. The once youthful face now was marred by lines, dark bags under his green eyes, and facial hair that left him looking dirty and old.
He cringed. This couldn’t be his face; he was only twenty-seven, at least he had been when the nightmare started. He had been promised a thousand deaths in recompense, and he could not remember how many times and in how many ways he had died.
But this was his punishment, one he couldn’t escape, for a grievous mortal sin.
First Person POV:
It was a catastrophe. The panicked look in his eyes, the snarl of anger crossing his lips simultaneously, while his fists clenched and unclenched set off warnings like the air raid sirens of World War II. He was a bomb, and I had only seconds to diffuse the situation before I faced the full force of his verbal assault.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
First Person POV exercise:
I stared at the ivory and black of the eighty-eight keys that stretched before me, remembering the sound of the instrument without striking a note. It had been years since I had played. At first it was because I was too busy: school, then work, then family. I never found the time to just be anymore, to exist in a state outside of myself. Playing had done that for me, taken me to a place beyond mortal constraints, beyond the tangible laws of physics that governed the universe. Music had always been my other dimension, and I had freed myself of daydreams when responsibility screamed louder. My life had become this rigid existence that offered less than an ounce of happiness, if I could even measure the emotion. I was frustrated to the point that I wanted to scream, to let go of everything that had wound me up like a top. It was why I was sitting here, staring at the one thing that had always let my troubles float away.
I cracked my knuckles, cringing at the deplorable sound, and placed all ten fingers upon the ivory. My form was sloppy, but even still, I allowed my slender fingers to press down just enough to illicit the sweetest tone, and then I pressed another, and another, until the cadence of a song I thought I had long forgotten flowed from the hundred-year-old piano. I closed my eyes, feeling my way down the scales in much the same way a hand knows that of a lover. I increased the tempo, letting it time with my resting heart rate. And that’s when I found the peace that could come from nowhere else. I was in another world, one not bound by the fabric of reality, only by the harmonics my ears could decipher.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
First person POV exercise:
I could feel his presence over the hum of the pounding music. It was a tingle, electricity, which coursed through my body, sending every hair up on in its end. I spun around, looking for the source of his unearthly aura. He stood across the room; his figure was obscured by the crowd dancing to the techno beat. Yet, his blue eyes were lamps within the darkness. They held me, controlled me, made me spin, and terrified me. Power like this was a thing of myths. Electrifying, tangible connections were products of love stories and silly sonnets and songs. It had no place in real life, and I could not help the fear. It kept me from teetering over the edge of insanity. I could not allow this energy that always formed between us to send me cascading into oblivion. He was a friend, and he could only be a friend. But he held me like static, and I craved his shock like a junkie.
I could only imagine what it would be like if we ever actually touched.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
First person POV exercise:
Sometimes, it was as if I could feel the world spinning beneath my feet. The motion would make me queasy, like a carnival ride after a bad hot dog. I hated the feeling of unease, compounding to the point that I felt locked into the Earth’s will. And that’s when I would spin, with my arms extended until I moved faster than the chaotic, rotating world. In those moments, when my body became the axis, everything else felt as if it answered only to me. The power left me breathless; it brought joy to my heart as it took me back to the days when the sun seemed to rise and set for me, the time before deadlines, appointments and duty. And, for an instant, I reveled in that place before the nausea became an everyday ailment that made me lament becoming an adult.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
Writing Exercise: Abbie’s POV exercise for ‘Roads.’ – H. Danielle Crabtree
I could hear the hiss of raise voices from the barn, and a sense of dread filled me. My older brothers had come home for the weekend, and at least one of them had declared war on Drew over James’ recent behavior. It wasn’t as if it was Drew’s fault that James had been caught smoking at school and that his grades had dropped off, but somehow, A.J. always found a way to put the blame on Drew because of his past.
I hated the way they argued and how it sometimes got so intense that Peter had to step in to keep them from coming to blows. Drew had always been the hot-head, but A.J. had been giving him a run for the title since Drew had taken custody of James and me. I liked living with Drew, in our family home, even if I wanted to see more of the world. It had been a comfort since our parents died, and it helped to have Drew home after so many years apart.
I sighed, and then picked up the feed bucket to hang it back on its hook. As I exited the barn, the hiss converted to broken sentences that included mine and James’ names. I proceeded across the yard, kicking up the dirt as I walked. As I stepped up on to the porch, I felt my heart lurch, and tears formed at the edges of my eyes.
“I don’t have to stay here, A.J., be here with them or for them,” Drew yelled. “It’s not like I didn’t have a life or things going on. But you don’t see that. You don’t see anything outside your little bubble, and I’m done with it.”
‘Done?’ I thought. How could he be done? He had promised to stay, to be there for me. Drew was the only person getting me through, getting us all through. A knot formed in my throat. He was not leaving me, too.
I sucked in a breath and then opened the door, staring between my brothers. My chin quivered and it felt as if a weight was holding me in place, even when Drew caught my gaze and refused to look away. I felt as if I would die on the spot, if Drew confirmed my worst fears in the next thirty seconds.
“I have custody, not you,” Drew continued, turning his heated gaze back to our brother. “And the interference ends now. I have given up everything to be here for them because they are worth it. They are not a duty, not a chore and sure as hell not a burden. The only way I’m leaving is if Abbie and James ask to go live with you or Peter.”
All my worries dissolved in that second, but I still thought I might cry out of happiness. Instead, I crossed the kitchen and threw my arms around Drew’s middle, hugging him tightly. “You mean that?” I asked, even with my face pressed against his t-shirt.
“Yeah, I mean that, Abs,” he said.
My arms tightened around him and I could feel his hands stroking through my hair. It was my greatest fear to lose him, that he would get tired of looking after us and return to wherever it was he had been for the last six years. I wasn’t a fool; I knew he hadn’t just skated through life like everyone else believed. He had changed from that child that had ripped our family in half, and not just because I believed he was the one pulling us back together.
“And what about James?” A.J. asked.
I pulled away from Drew, looking up at the firm lines of his jaw. He was still glaring at A.J.
“I’ll handle James.”
A.J.’s laughter echoed in the old kitchen. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”
I smiled. I loved Drew’s stubbornness, and not just because I knew that stubbornness was part of the reason he hadn’t given up on us. I loved even more the fact that he wanted to be here. I also knew that this was just one battle; the war of the Covington brothers was far from over.
That scared me, but only just a little, because with Drew here, I always had hope, too.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
First person POV writing exercises from the nocturnal loon:
There were moments that I swore I could see the dead. The shadow forms, the remnants of a life ghosting down a sidewalk or through my living room. The strange noises that permeated from the old floor boards as if someone was walking no longer fazed me. I welcomed these souls that felt the need to invade my private space. After all, we all need friends … even the dead.
– H. Danielle Crabtree
