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Spiral
#WritcoStoryPrompt23
The gold coins fell out of the velvet purse as soon as he pulled at its string. Glittering eyes stared at the precious bounty in shock. His luck had finally turned! He could stop his life of thievery on the highway and lead a respectable life.
“Help, help me…” the faint whisper belonged to the woman he thought he had murdered. Their eyes held. “Wha..what’s happened? Where am I? Who are you?” Just as he reached for the dagger, she whispered in fright, “Who am I?”…
He looked into the eyes of the woman in disgust. "Why in the world would I pity her?", he thought. But her eyes showed such fright that his conscience tried to fight back.
Gathering his so-called courage he did what he thought he had to do. Leaving her alive would make her a potential witness should her memories return.
And there he saw it. The last bit of humanity left in him. Abandoned, left to die, crying for help, mirrored in the eyes of the woman whom he had never thought would haunt him to the ends of the night.
Clank! The dagger dropped down to the ground, as he watched his hands in horror.
They were red. Tainted, soiled, and worst of all, dirty. Those were the hands, used to take another life.
He looked at the purse again. Yet it now only haunted him. He threw it away as far as he could. "Get away from me!", he cried. Which only drew attention.
Backing down in disbelief, he grabbed his head, staining his hair with the unwanted red hue. He wanted to run, but not a person in this world can run away from his own doing. Moreover his own hands.
He ran away as his sight grew blurry. A stranger called unto him, but all he heard was the ringing of a bell.
He had done it.
He had done it.
There is no denying.
He is guilty.
A murderer.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran.
Who could ever thought the sun would set this quickly? And who could ever thought his feet would give up on him?
As he stumbled, his face was met with the ground, leaving traces of red on the deep black asphalt.
The blood in him trickled, like a spark of fireworks created in Hell specifically for this day. The day in which this...
The gold coins fell out of the velvet purse as soon as he pulled at its string. Glittering eyes stared at the precious bounty in shock. His luck had finally turned! He could stop his life of thievery on the highway and lead a respectable life.
“Help, help me…” the faint whisper belonged to the woman he thought he had murdered. Their eyes held. “Wha..what’s happened? Where am I? Who are you?” Just as he reached for the dagger, she whispered in fright, “Who am I?”…
He looked into the eyes of the woman in disgust. "Why in the world would I pity her?", he thought. But her eyes showed such fright that his conscience tried to fight back.
Gathering his so-called courage he did what he thought he had to do. Leaving her alive would make her a potential witness should her memories return.
And there he saw it. The last bit of humanity left in him. Abandoned, left to die, crying for help, mirrored in the eyes of the woman whom he had never thought would haunt him to the ends of the night.
Clank! The dagger dropped down to the ground, as he watched his hands in horror.
They were red. Tainted, soiled, and worst of all, dirty. Those were the hands, used to take another life.
He looked at the purse again. Yet it now only haunted him. He threw it away as far as he could. "Get away from me!", he cried. Which only drew attention.
Backing down in disbelief, he grabbed his head, staining his hair with the unwanted red hue. He wanted to run, but not a person in this world can run away from his own doing. Moreover his own hands.
He ran away as his sight grew blurry. A stranger called unto him, but all he heard was the ringing of a bell.
He had done it.
He had done it.
There is no denying.
He is guilty.
A murderer.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran.
Who could ever thought the sun would set this quickly? And who could ever thought his feet would give up on him?
As he stumbled, his face was met with the ground, leaving traces of red on the deep black asphalt.
The blood in him trickled, like a spark of fireworks created in Hell specifically for this day. The day in which this...
