Post by Demona on Sept 7, 2007 16:13:35 GMT -5
This was supposed to be a remake of a chapter story I had going on a couple years back but as a one shot thing it's kind of cool, don't know if I'll do chapters for it I've not been in the fanfic mood in ages. If nobody knows about Nightmare on Elm St Dream Warriors, this was sort of based on that, with all OC's though, and takes place in the Westin Hills asylum.
Ok, so here it is. I always used to open my stories with a good death scene, lol. Yeah, It's far from professional quality writing but I just did it for fun.
A still body was fast asleep in bed that night, in a dark room marked as Critical Ward, among other sleeping patients in rows and columns of identical hospital beds. An empty I.V. drip was hooked to his arm, now useless as the last of it’s juice had run dry over an hour ago. Chalk it up to carelessness. Nurses and staff were few and far between during the night shift, and among those on duty, only one doctor remained in his office. Half asleep himself, no doubt. Not that it mattered either way, the world of the living had been left behind once sleep took effect. They could neither hear nor care what happened next.
Running like a madman, a panic stricken teenage boy tried desperately to free himself from the never ending maze of hallways and locked doors, each one identical to the next. Behind him, an evil voice cackled and called out death threats. Soaked in sweat and tears, he collapsed to the floor below, burying his face in his hands. Nobody was there to be seen, or worse, to help him find his way out of this terrible place.
It wasn’t his choice, it never is. It was the same story, like every patient before him, and every patient to come, they are all admitted against their will, usually in a state of total hysteria. They do everything possible to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares, to stay alive, and very few succeed. In the end, they become little more than a memory and a number on a gravestone. Not even worthy of a name anymore, or so the state thinks. Their families, however, don’t see it that way, but it’s still only swept under the rug. Who cares?
Looking up, wiping his face, straight ahead he sees it. The exit light, a sign over the door at the far end of the hallway. Standing up, he breaks out running, as fire blasts out from the walls and the floor becomes hot, scorching the skin off his feet, leaving a trail of slippery blood behind. The closer he gets, the further away it seems, and the hotter and higher the flames rise.
Suddenly, it stops. The scared patient finds himself in the middle of a hallway, only feet away from door at the end, the exit light glowing brightly in the dark. The voice is gone, there is no pit of fire, and he no longer feels any pain. With a racing heart, he makes his way to the door at a normal walk, still shaking from the ordeal. A light came on in a nearby office, and a doctor steps out in his path, holding one hand out, cutting him off. So close!
“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” the doctor asks the boy.
He is only met with a blank, dumb stare from the patient. Again, he asks him the same question, this time slightly annoyed.
“I said, where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t know.” The patient muttered under his breath.
“What was that now?”
“Get out of my way!” The patient screamed, and attempted to break into a run for the door, only to be pushed back by the doctor.
Looking up, stunned, he sat on the floor silently, for a few seconds, until the doctor grabbed him by the hand, lifting him to his feet.
“Stand up.” He ordered.
Producing a shot syringe from his lab coat, clicking the sharp needle into place, he made a move for the boy’s neck.“We’ve got to GET YOU TO BED!” The doctor screamed, his image twisting from what was once a normal human, to a scarred, disfigured demonic face.
Raising a hand to block the shot, it was too late, the needle hit the vein, and the patient collapsed in a dead heap to the floor. The exit light still shining, leading no longer to the safety of the outside, but to an eternal prison of heat and steel pipes, containing the souls of Freddy Krueger’s victims.
Some time in the real world, just before dawn, a nurse screamed from down the hall, followed by the rush of more hospital staff, and patients now out of bed. A report was filled out. A phone call was made. A family was in distress. They’ve seen it all before. It’s nothing new.
Ok, so here it is. I always used to open my stories with a good death scene, lol. Yeah, It's far from professional quality writing but I just did it for fun.
A still body was fast asleep in bed that night, in a dark room marked as Critical Ward, among other sleeping patients in rows and columns of identical hospital beds. An empty I.V. drip was hooked to his arm, now useless as the last of it’s juice had run dry over an hour ago. Chalk it up to carelessness. Nurses and staff were few and far between during the night shift, and among those on duty, only one doctor remained in his office. Half asleep himself, no doubt. Not that it mattered either way, the world of the living had been left behind once sleep took effect. They could neither hear nor care what happened next.
Running like a madman, a panic stricken teenage boy tried desperately to free himself from the never ending maze of hallways and locked doors, each one identical to the next. Behind him, an evil voice cackled and called out death threats. Soaked in sweat and tears, he collapsed to the floor below, burying his face in his hands. Nobody was there to be seen, or worse, to help him find his way out of this terrible place.
It wasn’t his choice, it never is. It was the same story, like every patient before him, and every patient to come, they are all admitted against their will, usually in a state of total hysteria. They do everything possible to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares, to stay alive, and very few succeed. In the end, they become little more than a memory and a number on a gravestone. Not even worthy of a name anymore, or so the state thinks. Their families, however, don’t see it that way, but it’s still only swept under the rug. Who cares?
Looking up, wiping his face, straight ahead he sees it. The exit light, a sign over the door at the far end of the hallway. Standing up, he breaks out running, as fire blasts out from the walls and the floor becomes hot, scorching the skin off his feet, leaving a trail of slippery blood behind. The closer he gets, the further away it seems, and the hotter and higher the flames rise.
Suddenly, it stops. The scared patient finds himself in the middle of a hallway, only feet away from door at the end, the exit light glowing brightly in the dark. The voice is gone, there is no pit of fire, and he no longer feels any pain. With a racing heart, he makes his way to the door at a normal walk, still shaking from the ordeal. A light came on in a nearby office, and a doctor steps out in his path, holding one hand out, cutting him off. So close!
“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” the doctor asks the boy.
He is only met with a blank, dumb stare from the patient. Again, he asks him the same question, this time slightly annoyed.
“I said, where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t know.” The patient muttered under his breath.
“What was that now?”
“Get out of my way!” The patient screamed, and attempted to break into a run for the door, only to be pushed back by the doctor.
Looking up, stunned, he sat on the floor silently, for a few seconds, until the doctor grabbed him by the hand, lifting him to his feet.
“Stand up.” He ordered.
Producing a shot syringe from his lab coat, clicking the sharp needle into place, he made a move for the boy’s neck.“We’ve got to GET YOU TO BED!” The doctor screamed, his image twisting from what was once a normal human, to a scarred, disfigured demonic face.
Raising a hand to block the shot, it was too late, the needle hit the vein, and the patient collapsed in a dead heap to the floor. The exit light still shining, leading no longer to the safety of the outside, but to an eternal prison of heat and steel pipes, containing the souls of Freddy Krueger’s victims.
Some time in the real world, just before dawn, a nurse screamed from down the hall, followed by the rush of more hospital staff, and patients now out of bed. A report was filled out. A phone call was made. A family was in distress. They’ve seen it all before. It’s nothing new.
