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bending_sickleHe’d been captured by these people of the dark, strange creatures who lived in extensive tunnels and shunned the outside world, particularly in the bright hours. During his brief trips outside with the creature he’d set up his trap. He’d managed to contain her, being slightly merciful in trapping her someplace dark, and went, free now, to alert his people.
~~
All she wanted was to stop the barbs and chains that twitched inside her, hurting her when she breathed, when she remembered. She wanted to take them out, rip them and drag them out, swing them above her head. But most of all, she wanted them to connect with another’s flesh. She wanted them to take, to hold, to rip into them and out of her.
~~
A surge of heat tore up her arm, all barbs and shards.
She was all speed now, ducking and weaving, cutting when she could.
~~
There was water dripping from the rooftop. In the din of the downpour she could barely hear, much less identify, this one drop as it fell. So she stood next to the drip, looking upwards into the darkness, and swayed. Shuffled a bit to her left. Swayed.
There.
A drop fell on her shoulder. She moved back slightly.
It fell on her forehead.
Now it fell on her lips. She smiled then kept her lips fixed in what was no longer a smile, more a simple baring of teeth, and let the drops fall.
It’d been a long time since she last drank.
~~
She couldn’t remember how long she’d been in the darkness, boarded in by the hardness.
Room.
No, that’s not what it was called.
She remembered being dragged in by a man she had trusted. A man she had allowed herself to trust, despite everything between them. A man she thought had learned to trust her, and not merely submit
But he had dragged her in and she had been unable to resist in her weakened state. A state that was all his doing, she realized now, yesterday and every day that she thought about these last events of her live. She had been betrayed and taken into darkness.
She grunted softly.
Betrayed into darkness, from darkness, by the promise of light.
The moon had been gone when she’d last seen the sky. No, not gone—new. A new moon, he’d called it, and she’d wondered how something that was gone could be named, much less “new”.
If it was night now, and if she’d been here long enough—or not long enough; the moon-cycles were just one of those things she hadn’t understood—the moon would be growing. Or full. Or perhaps waning.
Maybe the moon was out, outside—
Cell.
Outside her cell.
~~
Footsteps. Coming closer.
She stood wearily, her limbs screaming as they stretched. Perhaps her muscles had atrophied, shrunken, clung now to her joints—she’d lain still long enough.
But now, she was ready. She had to be.
The footsteps stopped. They were close. Something rattled outside. Good. She cold judge the distance to the wall now. She shifted her stance, wincing fleetingly, ignoring the pain in favour of the immediate future.
Then there would be pain. [This she would make sure of.]
The door opened and she crumpled to the floor, a searing pain slitting her head. She shielded her face with her arms as she kneeled to the floor, eyes squeezed so tight tears streamed down, grunting with pain and coughing and gasping because the air was too thin, too cold, too full of smells…
He stood unnoticed, the fading sunlight framing him in the doorway. He’d been half-expecting an attack, either bodily violence, mind games or taunts. He thought he was opening the door to his death.
He was right, in a way.
The sight of the thin, pale, broken form that crouched on the ground, moaning and gasping in pain at the outside world was a sharp blade to take in the heart.”
~~
All she wanted was to stop the barbs and chains that twitched inside her, hurting her when she breathed, when she remembered. She wanted to take them out, rip them and drag them out, swing them above her head. But most of all, she wanted them to connect with another’s flesh. She wanted them to take, to hold, to rip into them and out of her.
~~
A surge of heat tore up her arm, all barbs and shards.
She was all speed now, ducking and weaving, cutting when she could.
~~
There was water dripping from the rooftop. In the din of the downpour she could barely hear, much less identify, this one drop as it fell. So she stood next to the drip, looking upwards into the darkness, and swayed. Shuffled a bit to her left. Swayed.
There.
A drop fell on her shoulder. She moved back slightly.
It fell on her forehead.
Now it fell on her lips. She smiled then kept her lips fixed in what was no longer a smile, more a simple baring of teeth, and let the drops fall.
It’d been a long time since she last drank.
~~
She couldn’t remember how long she’d been in the darkness, boarded in by the hardness.
Room.
No, that’s not what it was called.
She remembered being dragged in by a man she had trusted. A man she had allowed herself to trust, despite everything between them. A man she thought had learned to trust her, and not merely submit
But he had dragged her in and she had been unable to resist in her weakened state. A state that was all his doing, she realized now, yesterday and every day that she thought about these last events of her live. She had been betrayed and taken into darkness.
She grunted softly.
Betrayed into darkness, from darkness, by the promise of light.
The moon had been gone when she’d last seen the sky. No, not gone—new. A new moon, he’d called it, and she’d wondered how something that was gone could be named, much less “new”.
If it was night now, and if she’d been here long enough—or not long enough; the moon-cycles were just one of those things she hadn’t understood—the moon would be growing. Or full. Or perhaps waning.
Maybe the moon was out, outside—
Cell.
Outside her cell.
~~
Footsteps. Coming closer.
She stood wearily, her limbs screaming as they stretched. Perhaps her muscles had atrophied, shrunken, clung now to her joints—she’d lain still long enough.
But now, she was ready. She had to be.
The footsteps stopped. They were close. Something rattled outside. Good. She cold judge the distance to the wall now. She shifted her stance, wincing fleetingly, ignoring the pain in favour of the immediate future.
Then there would be pain. [This she would make sure of.]
The door opened and she crumpled to the floor, a searing pain slitting her head. She shielded her face with her arms as she kneeled to the floor, eyes squeezed so tight tears streamed down, grunting with pain and coughing and gasping because the air was too thin, too cold, too full of smells…
He stood unnoticed, the fading sunlight framing him in the doorway. He’d been half-expecting an attack, either bodily violence, mind games or taunts. He thought he was opening the door to his death.
He was right, in a way.
The sight of the thin, pale, broken form that crouched on the ground, moaning and gasping in pain at the outside world was a sharp blade to take in the heart.”
