(c) Black Dirt. [PG-13]

by tea-boy. Thu 29 Oct 2009, 10:26 pm

Title: Black Dirt.
Rating: PG-13
Author: Me.
Genre: Original Fiction.
Status: One-shot.
Summary/Excerpt: Murder.
A/N: Didn't come out as I would've liked.

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The only audible sound is the static of a snowy TV station, it echoes, the haunting garble winding through the hallways of the house. The empty passages carry it through the air, transmitting it to the ears of invisible people. At the start of this noise, there lays a man in a brown leather chair, eyes fixed on the static station in front of him, an eerie peace in them. This was where he sat everyday; this is where he spent all his days, sunken into the leather chair that welcomed him with permanent arms wrapped around him, sinking into his torso.

His mouth is fixed, parted lips stuck on a word in his throat. His wispy gray hair was unkempt and knotted; it blew a bit from the breeze coming through a cracked window. The creases of his face, brought by old age and an ever-present serious expression, seemed suddenly relaxed, natural, on his withered features. The contour that stretched from his mouth down through his chin had become a river. Its banks flooded with liquid, red of nature. It wound down the stream plop plop plopping on the floor.

A small puddle had formed by the dusty shoe of the old man, a deep scarlet ocean on the earth below him. But the ocean was not full; a collector had come to steal its wealth. The tread of blood seeped into the wooden floor, winding through the rooms, stopping at the staircase. A pair of dark eyes were wide, staring blankly at a crème colored wall, taking in the static hiss from the other room. Droplets of blood cast on its body and a bloody hand print stained its face. Its head followed the path of bloody footprints, trailing out past the rusted back door. The pattern stopped on the last stair of the deck, bloody trail mixing into the black dirt road in front of the house, a tune of static still in the air.