Page 13 of Fragmented Illusions
No no no.
Dread sinks in deep, and it sinks in fast.
This can’t be happening.
They let me go!
Right as I open my mouth to scream, a leather gloved hand slams over my lips, trapping my cry for help. An arm drags me backwards from that grip alone. It’s so bruisingly painful. I can feel his fingertips digging into the hallows of my cheeks. My molars dig into the soft flesh of my inner cheeks and the jagged cuts flood my mouth with the metallic tang of blood.
My upper lip is trapped underneath the fake fangs I have pressed onto my canines and the plastic points of them puncture my skin before breaking off into my mouth.
I try to scream as I flail my limbs, but it’s useless. The body holding me captive as he drags me back into the depths of the trees has an iron grip on me. All of my thrashing and twisting has no impact on him at all.
In fact, it seems like he is barely even trying, and it makes me pissed atmyselffor being so small. Weak. Frail.
I could never fight against a man of his build, let alone two of them.
From the quietness exuding from the man holding me, I can only guess it’s the bigger man of the two, because the other one seems to be quite the talker—not that it makes me feel any better about this situation.
After he drags me to wherever he wanted, he lets me go. I fall to the ground in a heap of useless skin and bones.
What is the point of fighting when there is nothing I can do to ward them off?
You’re useless.
You’ve always been useless.
“We found ya, pretty girl!”
I glance up, peering through my lashes to look at them—the men who are going to kill me.
Their eyes behind the creepy masks stare back at me, and I wish I could see their real faces. To know what they look like before I leave this world for good.
Funny how I was so close to killing myself on the bridge that night, but now I’m absolutely terrified to die.
I’m not ready to leave. I’m all better now.
No, you’re not.
You’re still sick.
“Can we play with her?” The creepy one cocks his head as he stares at me before turning to study the other man, waiting for his response.
I watch their silent exchange as they decided non-verbally how my death is going to proceed.
Slowly painful or quick and painless.
I wonder what they will choose.
“Pleeease?”
My eyes dart up from the dirt and land on the silent one. The one who still hasn’t said a single word.
I feel as if we lock eyes as we continue to stare at each other.
This is it. This is the end.
“Yes. We are going to play with her.” His voice finally rings out, the tone deep. Raspy. Monotonous. Goosebumps break out across my flesh as his deep timber washes over my skin, like I chugged whisky straight from the bottle.
