The Old Rocking Chair
A look into the mind of my character Corey as he is haunted by hallucinations and the fear that the corruption that fights against him will eventually take control.
Author's Notes
This short story was wrote by me (Meowdle) and is for my use only. Do not take it and claim it as your own.
The chair creaked as I shifted myself back and forth, trying to fall asleep, which was impossible to do in that old, uncomfortable rocking chair. The creaking only made it worse. Each time, the high-pitched shrill would only jolt me back awake.
I glanced at the clock in front of me. It read that it was 8 in the morning, but that was a lie. The clock had always been broken, as far back as I can remember. Truth was, I didn’t know time it was. I didn’t even know the month or the year. I never did. All I knew was that it was dark outside, and whenever it wasn’t dark, all I could see from the cracks in the boarded window was a vast wasteland void of life. Void of life, anyways, except for all of the hideous, starving beasts that always roamed in search of their next kill.
Oftentimes, I wonder if there are any other survivors out there. Survivors… that’s a cruel word. I may be alive, but being cramped up in this old cabin never felt like ‘surviving.’ I never knew how I was able to survive here for so long. I never eat. I can’t sleep. I just sit here, alone, yet I see ghosts and demons constantly surrounding me. I know that they’re not really there, that they’re just a figment of my imagination, but I can’t help but feel threatened by their shrieks and stares.
I figure that it’s all because of the corruption that grows on me. Feeding me, energizing me, tempting me, desperate to take control. But I can’t let it. I know what it does to people. Heck, it controlled me once, and by the time I regained control it was much too late. Every day and every night I sit in this chair, fighting to stay in control, but I can’t help but think that I’m fighting a losing battle. The corruption not only fights me internally, but its revolting scabs are slowly growing, eating through my flesh, searching to destroy my life source. Luckily, so far, I’ve been able to hold it back, though as time goes by, my will weakens. The creaking of the old rocking chair is only a grim reminder that, with each shrill squeak, time is counting down to when my life withers away and the corruption takes control.