Scratch - a sample descriptive story

France

- Creative Writing -
Scratch


A scrape of wood against cardboard box and a sudden burst of light. The hand quivers slightly, surprised by the unexpected brightness then drops the match into a water glass, already littered by dead burnt ends. Then another scrape, another burst of light, another silent drop into darkness… Another, then another, and then another… Monotonous. Repetitive. Rhythmic. An endless routine. Scratch. Light. Darkness.

Scratch…

Outside the dark, blurred windowpanes, twisted and knurled trees distort themselves in the wind like the screaming people, an occasional flicker of light reflected off black, skin-like bark. The sky, threateningly black, swallows its landscape whole and refuses to spit it out. All sound is lost in the vacuum of hell.

Light…

A teardrop of fire coils into a face, the bluish tint near the ensnarled tip of black etches into features of horror, screaming, begging and then gone as it tumbles into the depths of the dark water below. Soon another face appears; so near the fingers… Recognition dawns… Was that not? But before any answer becomes clear, the light goes out, the face falls, darkness returns.

Darkness…

Bloodstains against the flesh have still not disappeared. Dark they’ve become, so like the gloomy obscurity that suffocates the evening. Red bleeds as the pride suffers and dies, white lies like bleached and parched skin purged of all dreams of hope and blackness clouds the heart that lies crucified on a hard broken cross.

Scratch…

A shadowy oblivion, a treacherous memory, a deadly fear, the last pleas for life, over? The features of a woman distorted and warped in the flame, the look of a tear-stricken child numb with fear, the flow of red seeping down the black beard of one man. So many of them, smeared into one: the undying enemy.

Light…

Yellow inferno draws closer and closer each time, the wooden stick shorter and shorter, the lapse in time greater and greater before the sinister gloom returns.

Darkness…

The clang of doors, the whistles of officers, the shrieks of women and children being pulled apart, the occasional shot in the air, and the parting of the crowd as one more collapses. Again and Again. Over and Over.

Scratch…

Time is growing short now. Memories are growing stronger. Regret? Not possible. Another match, another rupture of light, another shattering darkness. How long now? An hour or more? How long then? A year or more? How many faces, how many pleas, how many lives had he ignored? One smudge. One enemy. The devil and his advocates. He was right. They were wrong.

Light…

Stronger gusts of winds against the glass panes push and shove, threaten and consol both at once. A small fiend at the end of the wood derides and ridicules. A bloody hand reaches out, and holds tight. Whispered prayers of help? One blast. The hand falls short. Dusk and blood mingle in the air. Silence returns.

Darkness…

Obscurity falls short of doom itself. Voices of torment mingle around one’s head, suffocating, strangling, shocking, torturing… The unbreakable sound of ones boot against the pavement, the barked orders to lie down, and the haphazard shots fired into random people’s skulls, painting a picture of small rivers pouring from waterfalls of demise into one massive ocean of anguish.

Scratch…

Rats scuttles about the mangled bodies, feasting on the flesh of all evil. Bones, stretched skin, dried blood. Wood, scratch, flame.

Light…

Piles upon piles lay stacked in holes, as piles upon piles of records lie stacked below his feet. The red flag with the black bent cross would forever fly. One was meant to believe, without question. They were evil. They wanted our downfall. They wanted to destroy all we had worked so hard for. They wanted the destruction of our pride. They had to be gotten rid of. Gas, flames, guns… Who cared? Get rid of them before they get rid of us. But that was over now. Records remained still. We were meant to forget that it had happened. Destroy all evidence. They were winning. We had waited too long. Destruction was at hand.

Darkness…

Papers, papers… Names, birth dates, pictures, fingerprints, weights, heights…Yellow tint, yellow flame… red blood, red flag… A voice, few cries, several screams….

Scratch…

Young and old gathered orderly… a burst of light in the hand… to the melting pot as they called it… Showers… only to bathe? Do they sense our lying smiles? In they go… of course its only water… Yes they’ll see the day again we say…if only they hurry up… but the day will be saturated with agony.

Light…

They knew… but we don’t care. So many… can’t they just disappear? Why keep coming, why keep fighting?

Darkness…

They were like us. They fought for their beliefs; we fought for ours. We seek to destroy them; they seek to destroy us. It was they or we. We had no choice. They were the enemy… But then you felt them grab your arm… a tear-drenched woman… she pleads; she begs… does she sense your weakness? You try to pull away… her skeleton hands won’t let go. You shout, she prays… She knows you’re about to crack… You pull out your gun; swiftly point it at her forehead….

Those eyes…
The bang, the fall, the vanishing of life in those eyes… it’s over. Yet they still stare at you.
A foot kicks. A harsh snicker. Well done.

Scratch…

Get rid of the evidence. Get rid of the memory. Stop letting them fall aimlessly… put them to use before the end. Stacks upon stacks… flashes of light… dropped…and then the devouring light spreads, smoke rising almost immediately, blinding… It’s almost over.

Light…

Orange glows all around.
One match left… one last unburnt end… One last reminder…
Get rid of it… purge yourself… You can forget… you can go on living. They were wrong.

But the hand can’t light it.
One stick.
Falls.
Unburnt.
Ends.

Darkness…