Home  |  Hot Books!  |  Sign in  |        

Like it?
Share it!

from The monster I've become (working title) by Steven Derwin

Copyright © 2020–2021 Steven Derwin

Chapter 1
The End

The rancid smell of stale urine and weed hung in the air. You could tell that nothing had been done with the house since the eighties maybe even the seventies other than being a refuge for local junkies and squatters. The carpet was damp and rotting away at the corners. It was old and thickened with years of dust, grime, and dirt, littered with little balls of rolled up tin foil, used syringes and empty aerosol, and beer cans that were gathering dust among the stains and rat droppings. The odd used condom was thrown in for good measure. The faded mosaic and floral style patterns at every angle, the colours matching the dated and yellowish tinge of the dark tobacco stained wallpaper that was only just managing to cling onto the walls, but somehow it managed to still be full of volume. My stomach lurching as I was about to vomit from the smell, but it becomes lodged somehow and I managed to keep it down. It had always been comfy to sit on, the white and blues of my Nike air Mantra tucked into the fold crease of my stone wash denim jeans from the cross of my legs, my lower back resting against the uneven wall next to the crude graffiti of penises, Finley waz ere, torn wallpaper, and loose plaster, the large hallway window just above my head playing host to the ever-increasing drama and goings-on outside, a big crack running horizontally along it from one side to the other, the glass vibrating in tune with the heavy footsteps pounding away at the pavement outside, wood crumbling away due to age and moisture, and the not so white paint flaking away.

When I came to I was leaning forward slightly with my shoulders rolled inward, my chin resting on the curves at the top of my chest. Trembling with adrenaline, my thudding irregular heartbeats in my chest like it was trying to escape or explode, the hairs on my arms standing to attention, skin hot to touch, my head feeling like it was being crushed in a vice painful throbs with every beat, the increasing pressure that was building behind my eyes, tears stinging like nettles as they started to form, throbbing pain where I must have hit my head. I rubbed my hand over where the searing pain was emanating from, screwing my face with a wince, fresh blood flowing out like lava from a fresh eruption, I could feel the hole that wasn’t there before, pushing a finger into it warm and sticky, the roughness of the exposed skull.

“I must have hit it hard,” I thought.

The hallway was cold yet sweat was gathering in the course frown lines of my forehead and running down my back weaving between my protruding vertebrae like a slalom skier and the fabric of my shirt becoming attracted to my skin, elbows nestled just above the knee, my red shaking hands clasped together, I inhaled a deep painful breathe through my nose the cold air biting at my nostrils, pain shooting up my left side made me grimace and shift my position, nausea building again followed by a dry heave, swallowing hard to try and keep it from coming out, I held my breath in for a few seconds keeping my chest expanded trying to gather my thoughts, the pain in my ribs got worse with every second I held on to it, I lifted my head from my chest and rested it against the wall I slowly released it into the air, watching the fog from my mouth dissipate.

“No, no, no what I have I done?” I cried in anguish, slamming my fists ...

Steven Derwin is accepting feedback on this chapter.

Would you like to be a part of it?

Sign in or join to offer your feedback and constructive criticism.

FAQ: I don't feel "qualified" to give feedback. Can I still provide it?

Read books      FAQ      Contact me      Terms of Use      Privacy Policy

© 2021 Dream, Play, Write! All rights reserved.