The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Fury
by Elizabeth H. Smith

She’d not known sleep for so long, the longing for it had become a faded memory. She watched the walls of the cavern drip, each drop of water making its way through the upper layers, carrying with it the minerals she needed to survive. Each tiny portion of sustenance she caught with her dry tongue, less satisfying than the last. No amount of liquid could whet her thirst. That desire was unrelenting, unforgiving, and unending.

She vaguely remembered her humanity, so long ago it left behind the husk she now carried as her body. This new form she embraced, for she had no choice if she wanted to go on. Else the roots that grew down there would surely have replaced every vessel. When she finally worked up the will to move from her place of rest, she pulled many with her, for they were already intertwined throughout. They’d attached to her bones like muscle, held her together like twine.

Her once long coat served as a reminder to what once was. She clutched it many times, felt the soft fabric, reminisced about how it looked ages ago. She held onto that red remembrance, for if she let it go, only a monster would she have become. Even still, the monster had become her better half. It kept her going, let her stay alive through the years of which she’d lost count.

She knew that one day it would be time to leave that place and emerge back into the world above. The time would come for her to see the sun again. But she wondered if she’d see it the same way. Or would the seething hatred cloud her vision into a mangled perspective of everything she’d once known?

She reasoned it mattered not, that only her wrath would join her on the outside. She’d leave that dusty cave born anew, something different than what she once was. She’d find her place among humanity not as one of them, but as something else entirely. And within that something rage had taken hold. It filled every part of her being. And the only peace she’d ever know would be the release of that fury, and the matching crimson letting of blood from any who crossed her path.

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Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay

More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.