What Is It That You Seek?

You're standing in the middle of the street. Tired, almost to the point of exhaustion, but still curious. The walk home from school doesn't usually involve the slow stroll through the neighborhood. Today was different though. You wanted to see the small and haunted streets you passed up close up. They were calling to you. The laughter of the distant children, the birds singing as they danced tree to tree, all of it was beckoning you to enter in the suburban death trap.
So now you stood, arms at your sides, in the middle of West Port Street. You were running so wildly and joyously that you hadn't actually taken the time to see where you were running to. The quick and jolted blurs of people and street signs was all you could bring to memory. This tent though. The one that stood before you. It was the thing that was calling to you. With the elegance of it's sides moving in a phantom waltz making you want to enter, you tried your hardest to walk away. But your legs wouldn't move. They stood there, cemented on the pavement, trembling just slightly as you pressed them to move away. That's when you heard it. It was a melody. A broken one at that. Almost like a music box, with the soft metal coils beating the notes of some dead composer.
Taking in a deep and cold breath you started to move towards it. The beautiful colors of the fabrics shown elegantly in the setting sun. Charmed and decorated with the finest golds, you pushed aside the entrance flap and entered a smoking den.
As your eyes adjusted to the strawberry smoke you heard her voice. "What is it that you seek dear child?"
Your vocal chords scraped and stretched but produced no sound. With no force the smoke invaded your lungs making you cough and choke on it's bitter existence.
"In your eyes I see that of what you seek."
Her palms started to shift about the round table before you. You felt displaced. Never before had you had such a terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. You felt like a prisoner to your body; a puppet to which you knew not who held the strings. Eyes scattered to follow the mysterious women's hands, you see her place three cards on the table. Each one face down. The melody on the unseen music box swells with importance.
"Let me tell you a story dear child. A story of a life that you wish to seek. Or maybe a story of a life pasted lived. A story of fear or a story of joy. These are for you to find out. I can only carve you a path sweet dove. Now choose the card for which you breath life."
At that the three cards flipped over. Each one painted with a terrible image of torture and disfigure. Your hand starts to rise. Quickly, which one do you choose?


*Now there is a poll on the side of this blog! Go to it and vote for one of these three cards! That's right, you're about to start a 'Choose Your Own Nightmare'. Each week another piece will be added, another choice you all have to make. Winning choice gets written. But now is the time to pick the story! Choose wisely!*

1. The Heart Card; The first card you look at. There's a thorn ridden heart, twisted over what seems to be a dagger. The roses are rotted behind it and a single eye beats in the center. It's cold dead glare seems to rip into you. It feels obsessed.

2. The Attic Card; The card at the center. It seems like a poorly lit attic room, with the light coming from a single hanging light bulb. In the middle, under the light, is a woman. She's bound and cut up pretty bad. She looks near death but still alive...and fighting...

3. The Beast Card; The last card. Standing dead center, teeth snarled, fresh blood oozing from it's jaw, was a beast. It's ruby red eyes pierced into you. It was hungry for more. It's claws held the flesh of it's recently defeated lunch. Chunks scattered at it's feet. It was a monster.