Annabelle

I've been writing again. This is just a snippet. Tell me what you think please =]. And please, no stealing. Keep watching for the new and improved version that's coming soon =]

I sit in the window seat staring blankly out into the rain. I watch it fall gracefully to the earth below then shattering like glass as it hit’s the passing cars. I close my eyes. The rain disappears, the cars stop moving and I’m lying in a poppy field. I look in to the blue skies above and watch the occasional passing cloud. The poppies whisper in the breeze “Annabelle, Annabelle.” I sit up. The breeze catches my hair making it fly into my face. I brush it back with my hands and hear my name again. This time it’s louder and louder and louder, reaching a final screeching crescendo. I turn to look all around me. Nothing. The poppies are still dancing the breeze.

The roar of an engine startles me. I look up into the heavens. Like some ungodly beast a bomber sails overhead.

I open my eyes. The rain has passed, for now at least. The phone begins to ring incessantly . In my haste to answer it I forget where I’m sat and hit the floor with a dull thud. The sky clouds over, still allowing some specks of blue to show through the grey shrouds. I look around myself and find that I’m in a sea of crimson. As I walk it brushes my legs and I inhale the heady scent. I stumble. As I look down I see a guitar. German made in 1942. It looks eerily familiar. I think nothing of it and promptly decide that it’s coming with me. I can hear the distant chimes of a lullaby, walking towards the sound I realise that I’ve left the comfort of the field and wandered out onto the burning concrete.

A white flash catches my eye. Glistening in the sun is a white Cadillac, tearing through the country lane. As it draws closer I gaze into the car. In the driver’s seat is a slim woman with long black curls cascading in the wind. The frames of her yellow sunglasses dazzles me for a moment, causing me to trip and fall into the road. Lying there I begin to panic as the cars hurtles closer and closer.

I sit bolt upright, eyes wide with fear. The usually cold and uninviting walls of this grey, dreary prison suddenly seem homely and warm. Even though I’ve lived here for two years now, its just not the same. Unopened tins of paint sit in the corner glinting like the Cadillac. The telephone sits there blinking relentlessly. Little red specks of light taunt my eyes. I sit and looking at it in some kind of vain hope that it will stop.