When the Pounding of Fear is Knocking at Your Door
Read The Rules First.
Your Word Prompt is: Pounding
******Fiction Written by Robert T Gasperson © 9/4/2007******
I’m not sure what was going on there. It was almost like I was running for my life, but I was not really going anywhere. I was trying to get away from the horrible beating. It was a deep sound, a sound that I will not soon forget. It was like pounding on a solid wood door. It was hard and solid. It sounded like it came from a fist that was stern and sure of itself.
I tried to run but I was stuck in the chair. I could not move. I could not open my eyes. I really didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was trying to get through that door. What was trying to get to me? It was terrifying. I didn’t know what I was going to do. If that thing got in here, it would kill me.
I didn’t honestly know if it was going to kill me but it was definitely out there and it didn’t have happy things on its mind. Anything that pounded on a door like that would not ever have happy things on its mind. It had evil things coursing through its thoughts. It was not here to play. It was here to relinquish its anger. It was here to fight. The problem was, I didn’t want to fight.
The pounding got louder and louder. It got more intense. The door started to show its age, cracking with every blow. I could only imagine what this thing was going to look like. I saw a creature with horns jutting out of the side of its head. It spoke with fire and screamed with heat. It was ugly, showing its fangs and creases in its face as it growled.
My imagination was always good at over-dramatizing things like that. You should see the some of the visualizations I get when I imagine an automobile accident. I can actually see the car hitting pylons and driving through other cars sending people and their body parts flying to the other side of the highway. It is not a pretty sight.
This was different though. I somehow knew what this was. I knew that this creature was going to be vicious. It was going to be unrelenting. It was not going to let me have one say in the matter. It didn’t care what I had to say. It just wanted me dead.
My breathing started to shake. The adrenalin was pumping through my body like a steam engine. I could feel my heart pounding nearly as loud as the banging on the door. My body started to shiver. It was not cold but complete and utter fear. It was as if I could not focus, I could not find my courage. There was nothing inside my head to help me fight this creature.
Finally, I collapsed, falling out of the chair. I hit the floor with a thud. The pounding on the door stopped for a moment, then there was a crash. It was like the creature finally backed up half way down the hall to get a running start. That was all it needed to get through the door. I didn’t care though. The fear and adrenalin overwhelmed my body. I blacked out. Good thing, too. I would have hated to feel that thing tearing out my entrails.
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September 5th, 2007 at 9:54 pm
Hey again! Once more it seems like our stories have a rather interesting similarity, though it isn’t quite as amusing as the previous prompt. ^_~ Glad to see you’re still going to post these.
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“Please kill me,” were her first thoughts upon waking up. It was that headache again, the one that appeared when she was the tiniest bit overworked, the one that felt like a pickaxe striking her over and over in the back of the head. It would always rear its ugly head whenever she truly needed to get some work done or whenever she finally had some time to herself and there was no stopping it. It consumed her mind and pushed her body to the absolute limit of its pain threshold.
Some people might have likened it to a hangover, but she told them adamantly that it was different. She’d been hung over before and this was a hundred times worse. No exaggeration. No matter how much she doused herself with painkillers or put herself into a chemically induced sleep, it kept pounding away. And this one didn’t wear off with time, although occasionally it would disappear mysteriously for an hour, a day, or even a week if she was lucky.
She had no idea how she dealt with it. Just when she thought she’d reached her limit, somehow she was able to keep going. The only thing that kept her from putting her pistol in her mouth was the hope that maybe the doctors would be able to do something soon. That maybe there was something out there that could fix it. Maybe today when the results of her latest MRI came in they’d be able to figure out the problem and give her some wonder pill to take care of it, or even an operation. At that point she’d willingly do anything if it meant possibly removing the pounding ache in her cranium.
Hours later, when the post finally came she was waiting next to the mailbox. A very disgruntled looking postman shoved four letters into her hands before moving on to the next house and in a flash she was back inside among the safety and comfort of her pillows and down comforter. Two bills, a piece of junk mail, and the letter she had been eagerly awaiting. She tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents, rereading the pages several times before the truth finally sunk in.
She had a brain tumor. There were treatments, of course, but the chance of success was slim to none. She was going to die.
September 6th, 2007 at 8:43 pm
I am wondering if maybe the headline is something that directs your thoughts before you write. I don’t know. I my start just naming the entries by the word prompt. What do you think?
It may also just be the nature of writing about the same word.