A Field of Gold and Red

Right, so, quick disclaimer. I don't do melodrama. At all. However, I know that dramatic stuff can really work wonders, so I decided I'd have a go. This is a test exercise. I'm as emotional as a rock when it comes to literature, so don't expect anything great. Taking that into account, if you could put what issues you have, I'd appreciate it for when the melodrama eventually appears.

No. I don't want to see this.

There's a small field, with long stalks of golden wheat gently swaying in the breeze. It goes for a quarter mile, then stops next to a road. Off the side of the road, just invading the wheat, is a farmhouse - two floors, with a baby blue exterior. Only right now, the blue is black and brown, the two floors knocked down to one and a half.

I can feel the rattle in my breath, but I don't stop. I flick the wheat grains away from my face, and trample them under my thin shoes. I can see the farmhouse now, but I've still a way to go until I reach it. I close the gap, the golden wheat blushing a deep red and swaying, swaying. The red wheat contrasts the black, sooty sky.

"LAUREN!"

I scream again at the top of my voice, but I don't hear an answer. Bursting into the thin clearing around our farmhouse, I wince at what is presented to me. I dart to the front of the farmhouse, and gaze hopelessly up and down the road, looking for some meagre support. Deep down, I know that no-one will appear over the crest of the hill, but my desperation forces me to plead with every God, real or fake. I turn back to the front door, and stand in horror for another second before running to the water tap to my left, tearing a strip off my red check shirt. I wet it, then wrap it around my bearded face.

Without a pause for breath, I run to the door. I kick it open. It was always unlocked. A window breaks above me. I'm now in our hallway. The stairs lead up from my left, and the other rooms lead off from the right. Straight ahead in the hallway is the dining room and kitchen, whereas the living room is at my right. Lauren will be upstairs, in her room. She never went to the dining room unless for a meal, and she only went to the living room when I was around.

I charge upstairs, the planks beneath my feet creaking; the second-last stair crinkling away entirely. I press the damp cloth to my mouth even more as I reach the landing, and keep low. Lauren was smart, she'd also know to keep low. Another window smashes. I'm almost caught by a red tongue that snakes around my foot, but I get away from it, and manage to get to Lauren's room. The large 'Keep Out' sign that once hung there has gone. The door has warped, and I shout her name three times. There's nothing.

I straighten up again, and kick the door repeatedly until it too crumples and falls. Lauren's room is a caricature of what it was- all the things that adorned her walls were gone- posters, clock, everything. She's laying underneath her bed. I remember the time I got her that bed. A dozen years ago, and I wanted my girl to have a grand bed. I got pink bedspreads, pink duvet, all the fabrics in pink. Lauren didn't change them, and I guess she liked them there. They all look black and menacing now.

I get on my knees, and abandon the cloth, chucking it into the flickering maw the landing had become. I pull Lauren from underneath the bed. Her feet are bare, and she's wearing those jeans she loved. Her shirt was a muted red and yellow. I drag her, and she's not there. I hold my tears back until her face slides out from the underside of the bed, and then I don't stop. Her eyes are half-shut. Her lips are slightly parted, and her brown hair hangs limply around her head. I pull her into a half hug, and hold her.

I don't let go, and I carry on, over and over, thinking to myself. I could've saved her. I could've saved her. Could have.

I don't let go. Then the walls tumble down, black and red, forcing us apart.