Dark

• Olivia Dickson, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

The mist was there to burn, to burn your chest until a horrible ache was in there because no air was to be breathed in, but mist. Wind whipped at your feet, hard, like a couple of wolves pushing you as if their lives depended on it and it made a buzz sound through your ears.
It was no road you were standing on, just the only piece of land you could stand without getting incinerated by lava, and all around you were shrivelled, dead trees that were not the good old colours brown and green.
You were in the wrong place at the wrong time to get into this mess and you’re certainly never going to get out of it because now you’re up for auction and death bought you.
You’re bent down in a ball when you try to look up at a figure, different to a human in parts but it had a normal shaped head and that took off some worry. It glided across the lava and the bottom half of the body was just smoke with ragged long clothes covering it. He was silver, and a perfectly fitted crown lay on his head covered in jewels. The mask it was wearing left the face unknown and as he edged closer a hand unfolded in front of you.
Should I? This question was second guessed when you went to touch the long hand and then sprung it back into your other arm to make them crossed.
From silver to red his body became, and a painful siren rang as he pulled off his mask, fast and angrily. You realise it is a he while he was puffing through his teeth and walking away, then flying in circles picking up speed. You took a second glance and noticed a scary, deep cut glistening across his face.
He took a fast halt, smiled viciously and hovered, face forward, hunched back and arms hanging down, as if they had weight on them. Then, as if in a real life horror film, he slowly zigzagged towards you. At a metres length away he leaned forward, and you look up into the eyes of a killer. A breath, an intake breath was your last. What a dark king.