User:Vannahkk14

There I hung everyday. It was a never ending cycle. Sun up, sun down, midnight, and so one. They would walk by me, curse me, spit on me. It wasn't like that at first. His wife had made me, the farmers wife I mean. She was kind to me and always kept me clean. After she died though, they let me rot. The crows pecked off my button eyes, and my straw began to sour from the rain. No one ever looked at me twice. No one ever thought of me. I think the old man hated me because his wife was so fond of me. But that didn't matter now. Not anymore. In the dead of the night, I jumped from my post and navigated through the corn field I once ruled. There were no animals to signal my uprising, they'd all either been sold or killed. I crossed the yard in perfect silence. I could barely open up the cellar door with my straw hands, but I found an arsenal inside, retired farm tools scattered throughout the room. I smiled with my stitched lips, picking up a rusty pitch fork. My feet scratched the steps as I crept into the small house. The farm hand was asleep on the couch, soaked in beer and sweat. I stood over him, grasping my weapon tightly. Then plunged it through his chest; the wet squishy sound it made was nice. His eyes shot open for a moment. He looked at me, then he was gone. His blood poured onto his shirt when I removed the fork. It dripped with the shiny red liquid. My smile grew, nearly popping my stitches. Then I hunted the farmer. I shuffled through the rest of the house, finding him sprawled on the bed, still wearing his over-alls. I decided to take my time. I aimed the prongs for his stomach, they slid through effortlessly, ripping him open. He shot to consciousnesses just as the farm hand had. He gasped and choked, then his old yellowed eyes met mine. I would have said something if I were able to speak, but I just stood there, slowly twisting the pitchforks handle. I could feel my stitches tighten as my smile grew into a twisted grin. I finally removed the fork to stab him again. I hadn't stabbed him high enough for a quick death. I wanted to enjoy this. The tines slid through his appendages easily, piercing him slowly. The sight of my abusers blood made me want to laugh, but those damned stitches. His terrified expression excited me. I finished him off with a single thrust to his throat, my anger surging. I watched his life drain onto the sheets, his face, now pale, frozen in terror. It was beautiful. Red silence everywhere. I spent the rest of the night inside the house, I wasn't done yet. When the sun rose that morning, I was back on my post in the field. I wasn't alone this time though. I looked to my left, then to my right, seeing my fellow scarecrows. Blood dripped down from under their burlap sack heads. I smiled to myself. What a lovely day.