A Drop in the Ocean

I had to write this very short story for my English class, so, it's not very good as I wrote it in a haste and wasn't thinking too much about it. . .but. . . I kind of like the idea, so, I thought maybe I'll rewrite it at some point, expand on it and make

A Drop in the Ocean

 

 

The silence rose like towers over towns, casting shadows upon existence. It dominated – the stillness of dread after the news of end. Nothing sounded above the ring of bodies dropping into the ocean, dodging sharp rocks subconsciously as if a survival instinct even after passing. The water turned red, flesh came to the surface. The landscape was the epitome of life, represented by death.

 

*          *            *

 

Water made a puddle against the side of the bathtub as I stepped out. Today was the day. It was difficult not to think about this every time I glanced at the mirror.

            The strange thing was that the event wasn’t mentioned, and so I found myself going back to that same classroom. I wondered if it would seem different, if the ghost of what happened only a few days ago would linger against the window sill; invisible fingers tight around window bars; body heat on chairs and desks even after the cold nights of December.

            I leaned back against the door and pulled on a faded pair of jeans over the damp length of my legs. After fitting a snug white sweater over my frame I stiffly walked out into the kitchen.

            The light in the kitchen was ordinary, spilling over the granite counters and cheery wood surfaces. A blanket of sunlight on a frigid morning that did very little to comfort me. The pungent scent of breakfast made my stomach retreat closer to my spine in an attempt to hide. I gagged and continued on my way out the door, waving goodbye to my mother as I left.

            Frost covered the street and it felt like it should spread to engulf my mind and numb my thoughts. It didn’t. Electrical currents charged my body with shudders as I remembered that which I did not experience. It was so vivid – and image that would burn into me and leave a scar that no one would have the nerve to ask about.

            And no one should ask about it. Or rather, everyone should ask about it, because only if everyone knows and talks about it, only then might it be safe to do so.

            I don’t remember the walk to school, or any of my classes before English. I don’t remember sitting down or the class discussion of historical fiction during different time periods. I was dazed. Until it became silent. Until everyone stopped talking and eyes began to dart with the knowledge of what had happened here and the sudden lack of

distraction.

*          *            *

 

The clean up crew had done a good job. There were very few signs of struggle or hostility, though that was so strongly the theme of what had happened.

            I watched as my pencil rolled off of the table. I slid out of my chair and followed it under the table. Something drew my gaze up and my body froze. There were four deep scratches, scarring the soft and worn wood. Each line was about six inches long and varied in pressure and width from beginning to end

            They obviously hadn’t thought the event important enough to change out the bloodstained and clawed tables.

 

*          *            *

           

It was Friday afternoon.

            The men who burst into the room were not human. Their faces were long and muck green; their voices muffled behind folds of rubber. A fog of red trailed in their wake.

            No one dared move. They should have known that it would happen, after all, they were dealing with things they shouldn’t have been.

            Eyes began to water, filling equally with tears and fear. Panic. Denial.

            It was initially common to hear of things like this happening. Right after the election (as it was wrongfully called) there was a rise in censorship. In response, there was an increase in rebellion. It was plain to see that the new leadership was far less tolerant. The line was thin and it was easy to stumble across.    

            There was no mercy.

            The students found this out fist hand.

            They were pulled to their feet, grasps of rubber skin digging deep into tender flesh. A few of them tried to run, to fight back, resist or plead. Crying, yelling. Screams that filled the building and sent chills down the spines of those who knew better than to help.

            The terror sifted from the air, concentrating into something that could rot the joy from every soul it touched. It dripped through the doors, swallowed the walls of the building and molded the structure into something unknown. Confusion.

 

*          *            *

 

That’s where I was. Next door. I leaned closer to the wall and let the sound filter through and fill my body like an empty shell with the sea and the earth.

            The room was quiet. No one dared to breathe, and yet everyone was willing to pretend nothing was happening. I looked to the teacher and asked to leave. He nodded, empty of expression. I took my bag and walked out.

            The shrill sounds of fear had faded; I could hear bodies dropped as the gas began to take affect. They were like test rats for the poison, the blood dripping from their ears, their eyes becoming the reflection of the clouds in the sky; the blunt echo of thud after thud as they all fell, dead.

            I covered my mouth and ran until the chilled night air hit my skin and I reached the fine white sand of the beach. Above me nearing the cliffs was the school and I waited for what I knew would soon happen. Sure enough, it did. I averted my attention as the first body began its freefall. A drop in the ocean.

Author's Note

Um. . .you're welcome to tell me how much it sucks : P

Reviews

[Annie]

Very good...Bone-chilling in my opinion. I love how you illustrated the scenes so well. A little hard to follow at times, but I'm getting the feeling that's the angle you were goin for...

[Grey]

wow. creepy.

o_O
*Shivers.
but no, really it was great, don't put yourself down so much. guh, freaky story gina. but in a good way... haha.

so are you in bryan's english class then? he had the same prompt, and he wrote about a serial killer...

[Deanarrlack]

Complete opposite. I thoroughly enjoyed this