No witty comment, but here is a dark story instead, enjoy:
The post card the group picked was a forest scene. There's grass, it
kindof looks like the top of a hill, tall trees, a boy is curled up on the
ground, there are these red birds that turn into leaves that originate
behind the boy. The red color becomes stronger as it goes up into the sky.
This is my story:
Tommy had gotten away from the bad man. The bad man who started out good
when Mom brought him home from work-she's a dancer at the strip joint on
the bad side of town. Mom seemed happy when she came home with the man; it
certainty sounded like it twenty minutes later, after Tommy was in bed,
his head against the same wall that his mother's head was on, on the other
side of the wall.
He could hear her laugh softly, telling the man where to put his things,
purring, the sound of people climbing onto the bed, the headboard hitting
the wall and the mattress bouncing. More soft giggles. The sound of lips
touching lips. Then the moans, more mattress bouncing, the headboard
hitting the wall. Tommy tries to sleep. Then the man and Mom crying out in
pleasure together. Silence. Finally sleep. For how long he doesn't know.
The sound of pleading, whimpers, cries. One giant crack, the sound of
flesh running into flesh and the crunch of bone. She cries out, "Stop!"
Is that sheets ripping? Why would they rip the sheets Tommy questions. Is
Mom hurt?
All sorts of sounds, loud and fast. Running feet, the mattress bouncing,
the headboard smacking, more running feet, quick shadows passing
underneath his door, his mother screaming and crying for mercy, low
responses from the man-he can't make them out.
He gets out of bed. Opens the door of his room. Blood droplets in the
hallway. He goes to the kitchen. More blood. Lots of it. His mother's
blood.
Then everything happens quickly;it's all a blur. Blood and screams and his
mother dead; killed by the man she brought home, by the man on the other
side of the wall, in his mother's bed.
The man goes after him. He feels pain in his stomach. He twists away. More
pain in his back. But he wrenches away again. He's running, hard, fast.
Running out the back door, into Mr. Johnson's tomato plants, crushing them
underfoot.
He hears the man breathing right behind; his fingers clawing at his night
shirt. Tommy runs faster, despite the cold spilling down his shirt and
pants. He runs until the man gives up, but Tommy doesn't stop.
He runs into Mr. Johnson's orchard on the hill. And collapses onto the
ground. He's too tired to go any further. His body feels cold all over.
Cold and wet.
He sees the blood for the first time. Is it his mother's blood? But, how?
He never even got close to her.
Tommy is tired.
He closes his eyes to sleep.
The end.