The Thrill And Terror Of All Hallows And That Fateful Night

September 4, 2019 / rainbowbutterflycreative07 / Leave a comment

A snippet from the year that she stepped beyond her own limitations: a fictional tale

I’ve never really liked Halloween. That’s not true, I didn’t mind it, but it was never a truly central holiday in my mind, not like my Birthday, or Christmas. It wasn’t until I was 15 that Halloween became a big thing for me.

It was on that night that he came for me.

The day started calm and fairly normal. I would be staying home, watching TV with my family, nothing unusual. It wasn’t even until bedtime that it happened.

Halloween was almost over, when I heard a knock at the door. My dad answered it, and called me down.

It was him.

I’d seen him around.

I always saw him around.

He acted like he didn’t really see me, but I knew he did. He made sure I knew it too.

That night, he looked at me differently. He talked normally, but as he did, his neck twisted, and before I could do anything, he grabbed me, and pulled me out into the night.

The door swung softly closed behind me, and I was left alone in the dark with him holding me tight. I couldn’t scream, it was as if I was paralysed, and my chest wouldn’t force out the sound.

He looked at me, and I could see the moon reflected in his eyes. “I knew I’d get you eventually” he whispered; hungry. I still couldn’t speak, my thoughts racing with what was going to happen next.

He pulled me out of the garden and down the road, and before I knew it, we were hidden behind the Chapel at the end of the street. The old lady who looked after the building had clearly gone to bed hours before, leaving us entirely on our own, with no-one to miss us.

I didn’t want to think about what he was planning to do to me. I certainly would never have predicted what had happened next.

“I’ve been watching you” he said quietly, “As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one”

I looked at him. I still didn’t trust him. How could I even think of it? Somehow, I didn’t think I had a choice.

He let go of me, and I shrank back.

I couldn’t run, my legs seemed to have turned to jelly, and I fell to the floor.

Standing over me, he smiled, and said
“After tonight, your life will never be the same again”. I felt fear creep all over me, as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“Wh… what do you mean?” I found my voice. He smiled again and bared his teeth.

At what I saw, I tried to scream, but it came out as more of a whimper.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ve been watching you. I know it might seem hard, but this is your path” he said.

I felt numb.

All alone in the churchyard, I knew that I had no choice. He knelt down and leant over me, brushing the hair from my face and neck; caressing me gently.

I began to relax, before gasping, as pain shot through me, and tears began to fall, the night faded from my eyes, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I awoke, he was gone.

I didn’t see him again for a long time, but what happened that night was to change the course of my life for ever.

I’d never been anything special. I never thought I would amount to anything. Most people thought the same thing, but that night changed it all.

When I awoke, he was gone.

So was the night.

I was left lying in the damp dewy grass. It was foggy, and raining a damp, misty rain that soaked everything. Getting to my feet, I felt different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt strong.

Powerful.

And I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

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Li Carter is a writer, artist and crafter. She lives in South Wales, UK, with her family, and five rescue dogs. She’s on Twitter @rbcreativeli , Facebook: Rainbow Butterfly Creative, and Instagram @rainbowbutterflycreative and is the author of My Only True Friend: The Beginning. She is currently working on a new series titled The QuickSilver Chronicles. She is the original Rainbow Butterfly, and wants to fill an ever darkening world with a little bit of beauty and creativity.

In The In-Between

August 2, 2019 / rainbowbutterflycreative07 / Leave a comment

A Short Dramatic Piece

The curse of the blank page is something that shouldn’t plague me.

I am a writer.

Words are my thing.

They free me; so why, do I somehow feel so completely trapped.

As I stare at the blank page, so fresh with all number of possibilities, I wonder why it paralyses me like this, when it is meant to be the very thing that frees me.

Looking away from the screen and around the room, I glare at the sunlight gleaming into the room, and blazing off the page, making it seem even whiter than normal.

I didn’t want to give in to it, but the words simply wouldn’t come, and as the time ticked down, slowly bleeding my life away, I realised that I really had nowhere to go from here.

The feeling crippled me, making me feel impotent; broken.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t imagine another day like today…

and that’s why I did it.

That’s why I am now laying in a hospital bed, in a coma, with only a slim chance of waking.

I know I should feel bad; wrong, even, but the only thing I feel is regret. Regret that I am laying here in this bed, rather than cold, in a casket in the ground.

Some people would say that it’s selfish, but really, when it comes down to it, if they haven’t lived the same life as I, then, do they really deserve to be able to comment.

It’s strange here; oddly white, and my body feels like it’s once removed. Which, I guess it is, in a way.

Once removed from me, and once removed from the world outside.

Should I be happy?

I’m not honestly sure. In fact, the only thing that I know for sure, is that I did not choose the state that I am now forced into living in.

People generally fall into two categories when it comes to this. One group believes the act to be selfish. The other believes that the act should be pitied.

I was never sure which side I would fall on.

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Fiction

May 15, 2019May 15, 2019 / rainbowbutterflycreative07 / Leave a comment

Fiction

And why it isn’t pointless..

Recently, I was reliably informed by someone who will remain nameless, that they didn’t read fiction; that it had absolutely no point, and that it would not add anything to their life.

Their claim was that there are plenty of factual books out there, and that there was no need for fiction.

As a writer, I took this comment particularly personally. To the person that said it, it was probably nothing more than a throwaway comment, but it wasn’t for me. For me, it felt like, and indeed, it was, someone cutting down my first love.

The thing is that fiction and storytelling in general, have an incredibly important point to them. They allow us to convey things to some people, who might never read a non-fiction, or reference book about the subject.

Reading is so important, and fiction encourages this in a way the no non-fiction book can. Truthfully, it is far easier to get lost in a story than it is to get lost in the pages of information shown in a non fiction book.

This is not to say that I don’t see the value in non fiction, because I certainly do. I read both types of writing, and enjoy them both in different ways, and to varying degrees, but when it comes down to it, on a sunny afternoon, if I am to sit in the garden with a book, it is more likely to be a copy of a Harry Potter novel, than it is to be a book about productivity and sales management.

That’s the thing with fiction. It is, without a doubt, the most basic, and fundamental source of magic that there is, and if you haven’t managed to open a book, and look up five hours later, when it’s three o clock in the morning, then you simply haven’t worked out how to harness this magic.

As a writer, I am privileged enough to be able to wield this magic; to bend and shape it into a story, and this is what I truly love.

I imagine children at bedtime, asking their parents for just one more story. I imagine them slipping from their beds, right inside the story, until it is so real to them that they could reach out and touch the characters.

I think this is what adults have lost over their years on this earth. They lose the ability to see the magic in stories, and this is something that needs to be regained before they can even begin to see and appreciate the value and point of fiction.

So, I guess what I am saying, is that I pity the person that told me that fiction is pointless, because they are closing themselves off from whole other worlds, which would be open to them, if only they were to open a book, and read a story.

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