Maegan and Creative Writing

He curled up in a corner, a shadowed cool corner, protected from the light. His father had locked him in the basement for so long that the first time he escaped, the light burned his eyes when in its presence. Michael had longes to escape from his cold, damp prison for so long that his yearning had overtaken him and he atttacked his father as he was served his weekly meal. His pale, bony body shivered in the corner. He retreated form the light like a vampire, a creature of the night. His father lay, sprawled out on the basement stairs, breathing but motionless. Where the metal tray had struck him, was now beginning to form a bruise, swelled and purple. As Michael slowly looked up at the window, the light reflected his pale blue eyes; the darkness had for so long brightened his eyes to succumb to the dark. But now, Michael faced the bright day, blinded but he faced it. He slowly stood up, his weak knees wobbling. His ribs protruded from his sides and his cheek bones produced shadows over his face, fit for a skeleton. His ravenous hunger urged him to move in on the kitchen. As he passed the basement door, his father stirred, reaching for his wound just above his left eye…

TO BE CONTINUED

~ by cwmaegan on May 22, 2008.