Hold My Hand (writing comp)

Here ya go! It took a while to write because I just got into Pottermore and I was really excited xD
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The young girl watched through her fingers as the next fist connected with the woman???s face. It was horrifying.

Her view of the event was from the crack in a door she had hidden behind as the constant screaming, yelling and abuse began. It had started when the woman had dragged her nails across the man???s face, screaming hatred at him as he walked into the room.

The man had soon retaliated with his own attacks, and before long the girl had been faced with a viscious fight breaking out before her very eyes. She had dived into the bathroom and begun to cry into her hands as the blood seeped through the crack in the door.

Her curiousity of what was happening had finally goteen the better of her, and her sobs subsided. She had crawled towards the crack, knees sliding through the bloodthat was pooling around the crack, and peered out.

The fight was dying down, she was relieved to note, however, the only reason for this appeared to be because of how weak the two had grown. The man was holding a knife between limp fingers, and the woman was limping heavily as she came towards him with her fist balled.

As that dreaded fist headed towards the face of the helpless man, he made one last effort. The knife plunged forward, deep into the woman???s chest, tearing at the flesh and the pool of blood around the young girl???s knees got noticably larger as the body of the woman fell limply to the ground.

For a few seconds, the man stood smiling. It wasn???t a normal smilel; it was an accomplished smile. His eyes were unfocused, and his teeth were bared in this manic grin.

He was frozen in this position, before a loud choking noise escaped his throat, followed by a cough so powerful that it bent him double, and blood began to pour from his throat.

The girl couldn???t scream. She couldn???t cry. She couldn???t pretend this was a dream. She was frozen and had lost every bit of emotion inside of her body. It was as if her very soul had chilled.

Down went the man, joining his wife on the blood spattered floor.

Down went the girl, as she fainted, her head smashing against the door.



???It???s okay honey,??? A smiling voice whispered kindly into her ear, shocking her eyes into flickering open.

Blood. Tiles. Wood. Sore head.

???NO!??? She shrieked and lurched away from the body of the boy who squatted beside her. Instead of chasing her, he just smiled sadly at her curled up position in the corner.

Slowly, he reached forward.

???Come on honey, hold my hand, I???ll take you away from all of this,??? He said, offering his hand out the her crumpled form.

One look around the red bathroom, the tearstained and blood stained clothing she wore, and her hand was closing inside the boy???s.

???A new life,??? He whispered. ???I promise.???

Nuther Writing Contest Entry

Sorry if it???s a bit late.
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The boy leaned back into the soft comfort of the large leather chair that sat facing his computer. His left leg was thrown casually over his right, his arms were crossed in a lazy manner over his chest, and a tiny smirk was held on his lips as he watched news report flash across the glowing screen of his computer.

The news report suddenly disappeared off his screen, and was instead replaced with the webcam screen, which was showing the image of an angry looking, aging man. The man had to be late 50s, perhaps early 60s, and he was getting the first signs of wrinkles around his eyes. Those eyes. They were bloodshot and full of intense anger, so deep into the sockets that the boy never failed to wonder when the skin would just swallow up the eyeballs and leave no trace. The older man's lips were stretched into a permanent angry line.

The boy should have been afraid. But no, he wasn't. He kept casual and only raised an eyebrow slightly to acknowledge the other.

The older man couldn't even express his anger at the youth on the screen in that moment, it was a burning rage, it filled him up and for a few seconds all he could feel was the hard metal object pressing down against his thigh.??Not yet! WAIT!??The voice in his head screamed, and so he sat there was a fixed glare.

"So?" He snapped. "Did you get it done?"??

The boy curled his lip and raised an eyebrow. "'Did you get it done?' Who do you think I am? I'm not exactly new to this sort of thing. Of course I got it done, turn on any news channel in the world and you'll see." The cocky attitude of the on screen boy went straight to the man's head and his hand flew surprisingly quickly down to his thigh. His fingers had already formed a tight grip on the object, before he had to fight back the urge to actually use it.

Soon,??the voice promised.??Soon.

"So," The boy smirked. "What've you been up to, you old, evil traitor?" The man was taken completely by surprise, almost missing his moment.??Almost.

His hand flew to his thigh and the gun was now held in his hands, all heavy and cool metal in his grip. He had the barrel pointed straight at the image of his webcam, the image of the youth, shrieking in insane laughter and gasping words that insulted the man and the corporation that he held the gun in his hands for.

There was a bang. A shatter. And the man found himself breathing heavily and laboured on his end of the screen. His computer had been completely shattered by the force of the bullet. Smoke drifted from the colourful wires that protruded from the remains of the machine.

On the other end though, where the young boy had sat, there was only a mess of blood, dripping off his own computer and soaking into the leather of the chair, and the soft fluffy carpet.

The blood was the only memory of the teen that had sat shrieking with laughter in that very chair only seconds earlier.

???Well done. You did well, and the little freak deserved it.??? The voice echoed through the ears of the heavily breathing man who sat frozen in shock.

???Now, if you???ll excuse me, I???m off to clear up the blood.??? His body moved without his brain???s permission, and soon he was facing the disasterous crime scene. His hands slowly began to scrub at the blood, the blood that proved him guilty, the blood that had spilled from his worst enemy.

I tell this story from seven years later, and in all those seven years, not one person realised the death of the boy had anything to do with the man.

Or rather, the man in his head.