{ Original } 872
Feb. 27th, 2007 10:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
flufy-umbreon.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fliccuTitle; 872
Rating; PG
Notes; I wrote this for my gcse coursework about what it must be 8 months ago when I was in year 9 (I know wtf XD). It actually got an A*/25-27 so I'm pretty proud of this piece ^o^
Han Li Sung walked along the blackened street. The only light came from the few street lamps dotted along the road, their frail yellow rays not reaching far before being engulfed by the darkness. Dark storm clouds rolled overhead, blocking out any light the crescent moon might have been able to give. Han could hear the wind whistling as it blew around his face, the coldness cutting over his skin like knives.
Putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep warm, Han walked faster, his footsteps echoing with him down the street. His fingers curled around the various coins in his pocket as he headed toward a phone box, deciding to call a taxi for a ride home instead of walking around in such bad weather.
As he reached for the door he heard whispers travelling through the night air, deep gravely voices that crushed the silence of the evening. With a gasp, Han spun around, gripping the door handle tightly as if it would still the fear rising within him. His dark eyes scanned the street around his. But he saw nothing. The died away, crawling back into the darkness from whence they came.
Han let out a soft sight of relief and stepped into the phone box, the door banging shut behind him. Digging his hands back into his pockets, he pulled out five pieces of silver, and pushed them into the coin slot at the top of the phone. He picked up the receiver and pressed it lightly to his ear, several strands of silky ebony hair dangling over the object. His fingers shook as he dialled the number.
872..
BANG!!
The receiver flew out of Han’s hands and he felt fingers clawing the fabric of his jacket. He screamed. A heart shattering noise that pierced through the night and caused loud echoes to radiate into the stormy sky. Suddenly, the attacker clamped a greasy hand over his lips, and he was stifled immediately. Han felt his heart pounding painfully against his chest as his body was spun around. His eyes went wide and he found himself staring at the attacker.
Limp hair hung in great clumps over his eyes; their corneas a faded mustard yellow. His few remaining teeth were bared in a feral grin. Han could feel hot breath washing over his face; smell the putrid deadness of his mouth. Desperately he tried to call out to someone, anyone that could help him, but his cries were muffled against the tightening palm across his mouth.
Low sniggers filled the air and Han felt himself being dragged from the phone box and out into the street. He could feel the claw-like hands wrapping into his hair, long yellow nails scratching into his scalp. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears threatening to spill. No. He wouldn’t give his attacker the pleasure of seeing him cry. Wouldn’t let him know the white hot pain of fear that flooded his chest. With a sudden surge of strength, Han drove his fist backwards and felt it connect with soft flesh. He heard a strangled cry behind him as he darted away along the street. Footsteps pounded against his eardrums as he spun around the corner, not daring to look back for fear of being caught.
Suddenly, Han felt nails digging into his neck and he thrashed violently, a harsh cry ripping through his throat. He could feel the hot breath pouring over his shoulders. He stumbled as he pulled away, not seeing the curb in the darkness.
A screech..
A fading scream..
Han felt hot metal connect with his chest. Felt blinding lights sear his eyes. Darkness wrapped itself around him in a soft blanket as he fell to the ground. He rolled slightly, his head lolling on his shoulders. And as the last threads of consciousness slipped from his grasp, a last fleeting thought wandered into his head.
Was he really safe?
Rating; PG
Notes; I wrote this for my gcse coursework about what it must be 8 months ago when I was in year 9 (I know wtf XD). It actually got an A*/25-27 so I'm pretty proud of this piece ^o^
Han Li Sung walked along the blackened street. The only light came from the few street lamps dotted along the road, their frail yellow rays not reaching far before being engulfed by the darkness. Dark storm clouds rolled overhead, blocking out any light the crescent moon might have been able to give. Han could hear the wind whistling as it blew around his face, the coldness cutting over his skin like knives.
Putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep warm, Han walked faster, his footsteps echoing with him down the street. His fingers curled around the various coins in his pocket as he headed toward a phone box, deciding to call a taxi for a ride home instead of walking around in such bad weather.
As he reached for the door he heard whispers travelling through the night air, deep gravely voices that crushed the silence of the evening. With a gasp, Han spun around, gripping the door handle tightly as if it would still the fear rising within him. His dark eyes scanned the street around his. But he saw nothing. The died away, crawling back into the darkness from whence they came.
Han let out a soft sight of relief and stepped into the phone box, the door banging shut behind him. Digging his hands back into his pockets, he pulled out five pieces of silver, and pushed them into the coin slot at the top of the phone. He picked up the receiver and pressed it lightly to his ear, several strands of silky ebony hair dangling over the object. His fingers shook as he dialled the number.
872..
BANG!!
The receiver flew out of Han’s hands and he felt fingers clawing the fabric of his jacket. He screamed. A heart shattering noise that pierced through the night and caused loud echoes to radiate into the stormy sky. Suddenly, the attacker clamped a greasy hand over his lips, and he was stifled immediately. Han felt his heart pounding painfully against his chest as his body was spun around. His eyes went wide and he found himself staring at the attacker.
Limp hair hung in great clumps over his eyes; their corneas a faded mustard yellow. His few remaining teeth were bared in a feral grin. Han could feel hot breath washing over his face; smell the putrid deadness of his mouth. Desperately he tried to call out to someone, anyone that could help him, but his cries were muffled against the tightening palm across his mouth.
Low sniggers filled the air and Han felt himself being dragged from the phone box and out into the street. He could feel the claw-like hands wrapping into his hair, long yellow nails scratching into his scalp. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears threatening to spill. No. He wouldn’t give his attacker the pleasure of seeing him cry. Wouldn’t let him know the white hot pain of fear that flooded his chest. With a sudden surge of strength, Han drove his fist backwards and felt it connect with soft flesh. He heard a strangled cry behind him as he darted away along the street. Footsteps pounded against his eardrums as he spun around the corner, not daring to look back for fear of being caught.
Suddenly, Han felt nails digging into his neck and he thrashed violently, a harsh cry ripping through his throat. He could feel the hot breath pouring over his shoulders. He stumbled as he pulled away, not seeing the curb in the darkness.
A screech..
A fading scream..
Han felt hot metal connect with his chest. Felt blinding lights sear his eyes. Darkness wrapped itself around him in a soft blanket as he fell to the ground. He rolled slightly, his head lolling on his shoulders. And as the last threads of consciousness slipped from his grasp, a last fleeting thought wandered into his head.
Was he really safe?
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