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Here's an actual story from me to prove I'm not a completely incompetent writer. If you mention that the word "red" is too much you are illiterate and I will s**t on you.
They said we would be okay. They guaranteed me that nothing was in that cavern. I sometimes say that I hate it when I'm right, but tonight took the cake, by far. I bet this cake would be red. God, even as I run to the police station, covered in blood, I am thinking of puns and stupid jokes. I must be really psycho.
Hank and Ben, my two best (albeit stupid) friends always talk about doing juvenile s**t, and while Hank is usually kidding, Ben is always the one to talk us into these things. A month back we ran out on the ice cream store owner without paying for our double scoops. I couldn't even eat mine. I was guilty, but I told Hank and Ben that somebody PMSed on mine, so I wouldn't eat it (My flavors were cherry and raspberry). They laughed a stupid laugh. I threw mine on the street, to entertain my dumb-a** friends, and watched the red leak down the sewer gutter.
A week ago, Hank, Ben, and I were hanging out on a bridge that goes over the river that passes through our little town.
“Ugh, I'm so hyper.” Hank started, “We need to do something, guys. Let's go explore those woods out behind the school.”
“I'm ******** enough. Let's do that s**t.” Ben replied. “You up for it, Jack?”
I didn't much like the idea, and remembered that the school said those woods were off limits. I brought that fact up to them and Ben gave me a laugh followed by profanities addressed to the school in response. I hated being around them when they were like this. They are typically really well mannered and smart. They also like my poor sense of humor a lot, so they like having me around. I added another insult to Ben's rapidly growing list, to please them, and agreed on going.
The woods were thick, but deceivingly average. Hank jumped around on some rocks while Ben threw sticks at squirrels in the trees. I was looking at some wilting red flowers, myself. I was afraid some school official would come yell at us at any minute. We walked around doing boring, pointless things like this until we came across that god damned hellhole: the thing that housed another thing; the thing that killed my friends.
It was a cave. It was typical; too typical, even. You couldn't see more than six feet into it because of the darkness, and this was in daylight. I looked at Hank and Ben to see their reactions. Hank had a frown on his face, and his eyebrows curved into a curved line that said “worried” to me. But Ben, he looked insane. His head was tilted down, so his large brow covered his eyes in a menacing manner, and his nose was wrinkled from his grinning red lips.
“Let's go in” he said, immediately.
Hank looked at me. I was too scared to say anything. I wasn't afraid of the cave. I was afraid of Ben. That look still haunts me even more than the thing we encountered in the cave.
“Ben” he mustered, “I don't think..”
“You're coming” Ben replied, walking into the cave, “or I'll slit your ******** throats.”
He was kidding, I think.
All we had to light the way were some old glowsticks Hank carried in his pocket, but there were only two. Hank handed me one, and lit one himself. They gave off a red light. We walked down the twisted crimson path of death for what seemed like hours. I got too worried and tried to turn back. Surprisingly enough, Hank stopped me.
“I was scared too, dude. But we've been down here long enough. Calm down, we'll be okay.”
His glowstick went out. I listened to him and even led the way; it seemed like my stick had gotten even brighter. The blood-light led us yet again. I shouldn't have listened to Hank. I should have trusted my own thoughts, but at that point there was only one stick, and I'd get lost on my way out.
We heard a growl. I shined the red in the direction of the sound and saw a murderer.
Angry maroon eyes came into the light, and a spiky red shell followed. There were muscular scarlet legs with razor sharp pink claws coming out of the shell, and a fuchsia tail. The light of the glowstick magnified all of the shades of red he beared, and I realized my mistake.
I ran out of the cave, into the darkness. It was better than that hideous red light. I could hear my friends screaming, and when I looked back I could see shadows flickering, suffering in the now distant crimson. I went through the twisting, turning tunnel for what seemed to be an even longer amount of time than the way in.
I finally made my way out. I was covered in blood and crying hysterically. I made my way to the police building. They would have laughed at my story if I hadn't looked like I did, so they sent a squad to investigate the cave. Nothing was found but that glowstick.
I looked up at the clock on the wall and read the time aloud.
“Eight o'clock.”
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