500 words

Hello owlets. Today i have entered the competition of a 500 worded story. Its Called 'The Obsidian Room' And i will actually post it here. :) enjoy


There was blood, caked on the floor, the pungent
aroma wafted silently up, insulting her nostril’s, choking her. She stumbled
around blindly, looking for anywhere, anything to help her get out. But she
could not find anything. She was trapped, in a room, covered in blood. As she
searched for a way out, she hit something sharp, she shied away. But the damage
was done. Soon her blood mingled with that on the floor, two shades of deep red,
hers, a lighter, brighter red, and the other blood, dark red, tinted with
brown, dried but still emitting a disgusting aroma. Her nostrils flared, and
her eyes grew wide. Suddenly, she realised this would be the place she died.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and her body shook with silent sobs as she
realised the truth. She slumped, her back resting on the black, cold wall of
her tomb, her head fell forwards, and she cried. Her cries shared her
hopelessness, her fear. But she could not stop, she just sat, slumped in a
corner of the black, blood caked room, sobbing. Why should she stop? She was to
die here, in this cold room, where god knows what else has died, and she
couldn’t even remember coming in. But wait a minute, what was that? A small
scraping noise was coming from the far side of the room. Great, she thought,
something, or someone, has come to save me! Her heart skipped a beat; they
could also be coming to finish her off, now, when she was still alive. Isn’t
that what murderers do? Torment you until your begging for your life to be
ended? She didn’t know, but whatever it was, she wasn’t going without a fight.
Carefully, she reached forward, into the darkness, her hand sliding over her
own slick blood, her hand hit something sharp, and gasping in pain, she gripped
the object. New, fresh blood trickled down her clenched fist, the smell sickly,
acrid. She pulled the object toward her, and in the darkness, examined it,
carefully running her hands over its edges. Gaining countless cuts, but also
the knowledge of what it was. It seemed to be a discarded piece of piping, but
from where she knew not. It was half of the pipe, the edges rough and sharp, it
was on these edges that she had cut herself.
She had already worked out that this would be an invaluable weapon, she
had seen enough FBI dramas to know that. It was heavy, and sharp, a perfect
weapon if used correctly, she would make sure it was. Then she realised the
scraping had stopped, and a dim light had been cast into the room. She could
now see it, in all its disgusting glory, and the figure at the threshold. She
did not know him, he was covered in black. She then knew he was not here to
save her. She raised the makeshift weapon. She would kill him if she had to.

Done :)