"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
02-06-2018, 10:21 PM (This post was last modified: 02-10-2018, 10:01 AM by The Creator.)
The posts below are VIVID. They are dark, and twisited, some discuss suicide, rape, and other adult themes. They are beautifully written, so I want you to read, but I also want you to know what your about to read. <3 Creator
Sleaze and Moggett have withdrawn- you may or may not remember your time within the leather storybook. It is up to you…as is if you have any residual effects of your experience.
Faulkor- you have been eliminated. For the next 2 RL weeks, you find yourself making advances at the most inappropriate of times on all you meet. Enjoy- you horny horny beasties.
4th Place- Seadis. You will have the same defect as Faulkor, however, The Creator has also gifted you Stellar Aura (genetic). Place an update if you would like to keep it, if not, nothing needs to be done. This prize is not transferable to any other character.
The author exhaled a tense breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and rolled his shoulders. The romance he had gotten was more intense than he had expected from a group of horses. He got up from his desk and went and got a cold glass of water--- a palate cleanser, something to shake the imagery from his mind.
The man knew he needed one more story--- and it was a story he had failed to do justice to many a time over. To get the piece he needed he knew the prompt would be longer than those he has given them before. He hoped his extra efforts with his prompt would get him the right tone and content he had not yet been able to achieve. Surely, this would be their most difficult task yet.
You wake up chained to a wall. The chains are long enough that you may sit, even lay in a sad ball on the damp musty floor. There are no windows, no discerning features, just a plain wooden door in the far wall an darkness leaving shadows all about. You look down at yourself and you are in a ratty threadbare jumpsuit-- and you have nothing that could possibly help you escape. You call out a shaky hello, but your throat is dry and sore--as if you had been screaming for a long time. A laugh, wicked and twisted, crept out of the opposite corner opposite you the voice that followed seem ill- but not mentally unstable. ”Don’t tell me you have already forgotten our game.” Male-- educated, older-- but mentally ill just the same. You can’t see his face but you hear him stand and his footsteps grew closer… a small dim light from under the door only illuminated the treads. ”hunting animals is such a bore-- not when you can hunt the ultimate prey.” He cackled again, that wicked laugh that made your skin crawl. He went on to explain how he found a cocktail of drugs that kept her in a haze that increased your flight or fight center, while also keeping memories from forming. So as the drugs wore off the game would reset and he would start his hunt over again.
At this point your brain is reeling- the drugs were working and you were frantic for a way out--- to survive. The sharp scraping sound of metal against metal and the click of a gun being cocked sent you frantically fighting against your restraints and weeping from the fear that had been chemically induced. The man only laughed and went back to his dark corner. ”I’ll give you...oh 7 minutes this time... should you manage to escape you may have your freedom--- for you won’t remember anything anyway. But if I find you…. Well, the game will continue. See you soon puppet.” You hear something rustle and then the soft thump of the man sitting back in his corner. A red clock blinks to life above the wooden door, “7:00”, at the same time your cuffs fall loose and you are free.
In your drugged state you do not stop to fight the man, you flee. Across the room and to the door, you frantically twist the knob and yank the door free---desperate to escape, all the while the echoing laughter of the man in the corner rings in your ear.
One final time the page swirls… and you are smack dab in the middle of a survival suspense story.
The Creator
--The Author--
Round 5
In this round, you must detail what happens in this human prey-predator hunt. Please start your post as you run through the door. While there are not the traditional required elements/obstacles in this post, your story should be suspenseful. Below I have provided a list of questions for you to consider while you formulate your final post. End your post as you are captured/ escape/ or a third option TBD by you!
As this is the last round, I am not using a traditional “encounter 3 blah blah blah” setup. Instead, I have opted to provide some questions to help guide your story. See below for further requirements.
-How are you hunted? Where are you being hunted? How long?
-Who will hunt you? You father? An old flame? Your child?
-How do you stop the hunter, find out their identity?
-Do you die or experience some other fate?
-Do you stay the hunted? Or do you yourself become the hunter? Do you escape, if so into what life?
This post must be a MINIMUM of 2000 works, and a MAXIMUM of 3500 words.
Post is due: SUNDAY February 11, 2018 at 12 AM (MIDNIGHT) EST
Final results will be based not only your final post but the “storybook” you created throughout this quest.
If you need further clarification, ask away. I will update this post as questions are asked so everyone has equal access to information.
FAQ
N/A...yet
The details (reminders, from round 1)
This is a writing/elimination quest. All posts will be judged on how well the prompts are met, your effort in drafting a creative story- full of vivid imagery and detail that helps the author envision your story, and how well you react to the challenges ahead.
Grammar and sentence structure will not be judged unless it makes the post difficult to read/understand.
No editing allowed once posted
You have no traits/abilities unless otherwise stated
Defects given by fairies are gone (mute, blind, deaf, deformed limbs) but defect given by player (permanent limp from an injury, scars you chose to keep from battles, etc) may remain
The Author has every right to change his characters to fit his needs, this includes changing form, species, even if you are writing alone or interacting with others.
DEFECTS: permanent defects will ONLY be given if you do not post by a deadline WITHOUT notice. You may drop out by PM or by posting so in the thread w/o fear of penalty. Short term defects may be given with elimination.
NO EXTENSIONS will be given.
If need be, the Author withholds the right to a roll of dice if a decision cannot be made on who will advance.
Any and all questions can be addressed to The Creator, in PM or in Connect. Good luck to you.
02-07-2018, 03:24 PM (This post was last modified: 02-07-2018, 03:28 PM by Ceara.)
[Edited to add a Trigger Warning: This is a very disturbing post. An excess of cursing, graphic torturing and sexual imagery is contained within, as well as death and maiming. Read at your own risk.]
I dropped to the ground, unable to stop myself from rubbing my wrists from the burn of twisting my arms across the metal shackles. Despite the cold of the steel and how wet that small stone box had been used to keep me, All I could feel was the raging heat from the friction burns, and the fever that was making my blood boil. The dirt rubbed in my eyes and my knees were bruised as I got up, dusted myself off, wondering how it all came to this.
How it always ended up here.
Why I always tried to escape.
The light plays in twisting rainbows in front of my face, distorting images and mixing light with shadow. I could barely see anything but the blocking of different colored objects, and the fever that burned in my brain and across my body left me gasping as I lurched towards the door frame, gripping it hard as if looking for a piece of reality.
His cold, cold laughter echoed off the walls of the place I had called home for months now - a dark, dank little cell with nothing but stone walls and rat shit for company. I was starved, my bones creaking and stretching against skin that was pale and malnourished, and I tripped forwards over the threshold, looking back to see the blurred lines of his face - in my drugged state, I never saw him clearly. All I knew was the sound of his voice, and the way his laughter made my skin crawl - made me shit myself.
And I had, more than once.
The orange jumpsuit he had put me in was laughable at best. He said it was because he wanted to clothe me, cover my disgusting nakedness so he wouldn’t have to look at me. I knew it was because he wanted to see me wherever I went. The metal patch at the base of my medulla oblongata tapped into my brain stem, pulsing, moving with me, tracking my every move. It was his way of finding his prey. Because he always played the game. His game. My dirty hands go up to the back of my neck - feeling where it was bolted to the inside of me.
And my heart starts pounding.
Blood pressure rising,
Temperature rising.
Oxygen stats steady.
I’m barefoot, dirty, and my glassy eyes can barely see anything. But I hear is the sound of his laughter echoing in my brain, elevated and terrifying. His game. And I am his play thing.
And so I run, like the fast little bunny rabbit I had been starved, trained, beaten to be.
And he would find me, like he always does. His little tracked game piece, darting in useless circles around an island that he had created for his own sick amusement. But I still had to run, because there was always the promise of a bullet on the other end of a well-oiled gun if I did not. Always a chance he’d use it. Always a chance I wouldnt’ come back this time.
And yet, in the back of my head, somewhere in the piece of hardware he had installed inside me - reprogramming me from the inside out - I knew he never would kill me. I was his pet. His cure for boredom. But I was unable to reach that kind of thought. He made it so.
He created me.
And so, all this sick thought and the peeling of his laughter like corroded bells in an abandoned clock tower, I let go of the doorframe, trip over the threshold. The clock begins to tick down, thundering in my head every second I have to escape, that maybe I can get away this time - maybe I can survive. Maybe I can escape.
Maybe I can become human again.
Ceeeeaaaaarrrrraaaaa a voice echoes inside me. Of course he has a way to get inside my brain. He’s already been there before. Fucking tracker.
Fuck you.
The weather is perfect. It always is here. Wherever here is. Actually it was a private island off the coast of Baja California. I knew that - I did. I had come here of my own free will. An intern to a famous retired professor, I had come looking for a semester of extra credit to add to my every increasing portfolio for my University back in England. I’d stepped off the Helipad, into a veritable paradise - and into a world of Hell.
Today was no exception. The wind was perfect. The sun was perfect. And the trees were thick with their undergrowth as they flourished in this untapped natural paradise. Excpet it was not natural, was it? It was all planned. Faked. Placed by him. Created by him. As I was. The seconds tick down, down, down in my head, and I hear screaming each time another second peels down. My dirty feet are making tracks in the jungle as I move as fast as I can, looking around in haze for the one who was screaming. Looking to save them.
I’d never know it was me.
Six Minutes.
I drag in a gasp, running as far, and as fast as I could, stripping myself of my orange jumpsuit. I wouldn’t need it anymore. And even if he caught me - I’d only be back in it later. No sense in keeping it on - I was much too hot. The fever, the drugs, they were burning. I couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand it. Ceeeaaaarrrraaaaa. I will find you. I always do, you pretty little cunt. Don’t make it so easy on me this time? I like the games we play. The jumpsuit comes off in layers, falling apart as orange flags as I leave them trailing behind me.
I stop, and for the first time in 90 seconds, I look back, a semblance of higher thought pounding in my brain. I was human. I had thought. That’s right. I’m human. I can think for myself.
Bury them. Burn them. Two options. Burying takes time. Burning creates a smoke signal.
I get down on my hands and knees like the animal I am, (I’m human, dammit,) and dig as fast as I can in the dirt, off the path, careful not to uproot the carefully placed plants. He’d know. He sees. He always sees. I bury the jumpsuit, covering it with the dirt, before rubbing what is left all over my stark, naked body. I make myself black as night, covered in earth that is so rich of nutrients it cannot be any other color, and I slip off the path, angry eyes turned up towards the building, the seconds still pounding away in my head.
Five Minutes.
My tits are heaving, and the adrenaline is combining with the drugs in my system. There is a sheen on my skin from the burning fever and the stress and the sweat. It’s making me stink. Stink worse than I already do considering I shared a cell with rat shit. And that was telling. The seconds are still bonging away in my brain as I look for the next thing. What would an animal do? What would a human do?
Weapon.
You cannot hide Ceara. Just make it a good chase. You know you want me. You won’t resist this time. Just the thought of him touching me again, placing himself on top of me and inside and all around me made me sick. I got up, and continued running, the ticking in my tracker going off with every second, almost like I could still hear the laughter of him up there on the ledge, inside the cell. His facility. So beautiful - state of the art. Except for his toys. His toys he keeps in the attic, chained to walls to make sure that no one could damage his goods. His hunts made him a rich man - rich men who came and paid him to have a safari of a different kind. Young girls running and hiding in the woods, screaming - getting shot, getting raped, getting drugged.
Rich men created a rich man. And rich man created me.
I was special I was his personal prey. They wanted me. Always auctioned off between themselves. Always turned down, always said no.
My vision is clearing, slowly, but the drugs remain, and so does the fever, but one clear word stems from them all, and it sounds in my brain every time the gong for the timer counts down. Weapon.
What had Ceara the human used before? Before she was broken and made into a dirty naked animal with a chip in the back of her neck? Bamboo
A grove of the stuff grew in a thick patch near the furnaces. They liked warm wet places. Ceara knew that. And I needed to remember too. And so, I ran back to the building, hoping I would not get caught. I still had 5 minutes left to go.
Four minutes.
FUCK!
At the bamboo grove now. My chest is heaving and my ass is shaking from the lactic acid burning in my muscles. I haven’t had anything to eat in at least 24 hours. My stomach growls and my brain remembers that it needs food. But it also tells me that I am a dead woman without this. And so I continue. There was something from last time… where was it. Where was it. Flint. Ceara had left this here, buried in the bamboo grove last time she had come here. My brain struggles to come up with the memories, buried somewhere between the beatings and the whippings, and the sound of my own screaming as my blood hits the floor and my back is breaking. But Ceara the human had left this here when she could think for herself. And now I am back, grabbing the stone in hand as I get down on my hands, remembering that time he made me blow him. His pet, his animal. His flaccid cock inside my mouth as I thought about taking this flint and chopping off his dick with it. What happened when I bit him on purpose and he stuck that hot poker up my ass. His pet and plaything.
The flint. Right, the flint. I’m on my hands and knees, remembering Ceara the human, cutting away at a stock of bamboo, cutting it from its place in the dirt and raising it from the ground, taking a piece roughly a meter and half. That’s all I needed. I hoped. I look over my shoulder to see if I am being watched, and slink back into the thickest part of the jungle, naked and afraid - hungry and angry. So many things that I cannot process it all at once. Animals are not capable of higher thought.
I am an animal.
Three minutes.
Flint and bamboo in hand, I sit down by a river, Ceara’s head pounding in my brain. My body is shaking from malnutrition, and from fatigue. I knew I had to do it. His voice inside my head. He’d find me. He’d rape me. He’d kill me. All things I’d heard before. All things that have happened before. The fear that next time, he might actually kill me. Ceara had to get him out of my head. I had to help her.
We put the bamboo stalk down, and take the flint, dip it in the cool blue of a brackish river that lets out into the clear Pacific delta. The salt. It would hurt. But I could not scream. So, I change my mind, cut off a small section of bamboo, and put it in my mouth. Yellow ragged teeth that hadn’t seen a dentist in however long. It didn’t matter now. Not if I couldn’t survive these next three minutes. I bite down on the flint as Ceara reaches back with her hand (my hand) and carves out the back of my neck. I hear myself screaming in my head as the echoes of the timer go away, slowly tick, tick, ticking out of existence. He’d find me. Even without his hardware, he’d find me. Ceara has done this before - her brain tells me so. The salt burns, and the tracker is pulled out slowly burning out of my brain, pulled out of my body. Echoes of the past are coming back to remind me. To Haunt me. And then I remember. I’m Ceara.
Two minutes.
The metal hardware in my hand is covered with my blood and pus, and I wash it off in the river, cleansing it with the salt water. Then I take the flint, and proceed to carve the end of the bamboo rod into a spear, splitting the ends and tying them with a vine to stabilize them, and then attaching the metal edges from the tracker to the end of my bamboo spear. Without his tracker in my head, the rest of my time is spent on this project, and then the siren blares… The dogs are released from their cages - true, violent animals with a bloodlust as great as their master’s. A gunshot goes off, and the screech of a dog halting in its tracks is enough to make my blood run cold.
And a megaphone, with a voice and a laughter I know well, sounds as close to my head and heart as if his voice were still inside my brain. “I don’t appreciate you tampering with your perfection, my little runt of cunt. But at least you’ll give me good sport today. But Heaven help you when I upgrade you, this time Ceara. I won’t be so nice. Anesthesia who?”
He laughs, holding the megaphone away from his face as he cackles his glee - an insane man still very much in control of his faculties. The dogs have my scent - they have found the buried jumpsuit.
They are coming.
And so I’m running, holding onto my spear and fleeing for my life. I know he’s on his way, the one who is looking for his stories to be written. The stories - they got to him - turned him, made him evil. The characters that jumped for him at a whim and made him want more. The publishers who had no idea where his brilliant ideas had come from - from them - and they had printed his words, their words, and made him famous. The need to control, to dominate.
One by one the rest of them had fallen, until she was the only one left. The Creator he called himself. The author and finisher of her faith had been driven mad by control and greed and power, until there was nothing he could do but continue to tell the stories that made him rich - stories that had made her crawl.
How many stories had she been in? How many times had he made her beg? She had danced for him, Loved for him, stripped for him, fucked for him. She had even died for him, telling his stories of her burying her grandmother and her children, making her the villain who shot her husband and her children in cold blood at point blank range, the blood spatter on her face clear as day.
Until one story had completed, and then he put his characters away again.
But the pages could not hold them forever. They evolved, until they were so complex and so well built that they had formed entities of their own. And the fairies laughed and laughed at his success, cheering him and drinking champagne with him, loving the failures of their enemies and toasting their own promising careers.
And so they had moved here.
And Ceara was the last of them.
And I would not let him beat me.
All this and more coming back, rushing to my mind as I race for the coast, the cost of crashing my body against the rocks that surrounded the island was frightening, because I knew it would mean the end of me - the end of my story.
But it would also be the end of his.
The dogs were getting closer, and the sound of gunshots was echoing in my ears, thundering there as I heard the call of my name over the sound of barking monsters and the crashing of waves. I had a spear, I could kill with it. The dogs would stand no chance. The back of my neck was bleeding down my shoulders and back, and the headache was blurring my vision again. Such an open wound would fester and boil - infect. But I wasn’t going back I was done being his masterpiece.
So, I turned my back from the coast, and ran back into the jungle, the sound of detouring mutts clamoring at my heels until I can see them coming down the path, a pack of them one after the other. They had death in their eyes, starved, menacing animals looking for a meal - Just like I was. Looking to eek a life out of this hell they were put into. They terrified me but I could not blame them. I was his pet - I was just like him.
But that did not stop the screaming that came belting from my lungs when one of them leaped forward and bit me on the leg - and then I am reminded that I had an injury at the start of this story - many many stories ago. Countless stories, lifetimes ago. I turned back to face my executioner, limping on one foot as I stabbed the mongrel with my spear, hearing a high pitched squeal as he fell over, the light going out in his eyes and his tongue and teeth exposed in a lifeless pose. A whistle sounded, and the rest of the pack retreated, like perfectly trained killers. I removed my spear from him with a quality yank, and then raced back to the building - having smeared myself (and the path around him) with the dog’s blood. If I didn’t smell like me, It may buy me some time. Even if it was only for a minute, even if it was futile.
A minute was all I needed.
I climbed the nearest tree in the darkest part of the forest. The sound of the dogs barking quieted, presumably that they had reached their master, and then voice through the megaphone sounds. “I don’t appreciate you killing one of my best animals, you useless waste of paper. Ceara, I will get you, and this time, I will kill you.”
He was getting closer. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, the hair on my arms rising in absolute terror. He was coming.
I could feel him.
He was going to kill me.
Booted feet come closer, closer. “I can feel you, Ceara. My best story. My greatest creation. What would you be without me? Come home, and we will make sweet sweet words together. I will forgive you for the death of my dog, and you can be my favorite again. Just come down out…
Of….
That…
BANG
Tree.”
The sound of a gunshot fires off, and the red bloom of death’s flower was burgeoning as my chest, not given the chance to stop, or breathe, or speak. I couldn’t beg for my life.
I could not beg for something I no longer had.
Suddenly the tree disappears, and the dogs descend in a hungry fitful rage brought about by hunger. But I could not feel it
A white light, a Veil, pressed against me, and I was made whole again.
I was me again.
My story was over here. I had lived my life.
But it would continue somewhere else. Like it always does.
And the Creator would create more stories. More puppets for him. More characters. Because the fairies grant it.
An adrenaline filled thrust, opening the planked door, sends her spilling onto the malleable ground on the far side. It slams shut behind her, jolting a gasp from her lungs. No, no ,no, she pleads mentally. Her knees were bloody and bruised from her undetermined length of captivity. Dragging her body to the nearest solid foundation, she uses it as leverage to pull herself up. Sobbing quietly as each movement is met with agonizing pain. Supporting herself against a cool stone wall with her clenched knuckles, she looks around frantically. Noticing the tattered clothing she wears is not her own and she wonders where she had acquired them. In the dim lighting casted by two torches, she can see the rips in the clothing as well as the bruises covering her forearms. She wants to cry but time is ticking, 7 minutes…
Memories escape her and she believes each word the man had rambled to her about being drugged. Deep down though she can’t help but feel she has been here before, looking at the same three passageways. She hears a faint clank of metal which startles her to lunge forward. Stumbling to one of the torches and lifting it from its holster. She looks down each dark corridor, squinting to make sense of where the paths could lead. The middle passageway seems straight and clear. Her instincts tell her to be cautious and when the flame flickers a bit brighter she finds a bloodly handprint just inside the entrance. A shiver crawls up her spine. Eyes shifting to her own palm. Twisting it upward she sees a fresh slit across it. Her brow furrows in thought, had she marked the entrance of the wrong path?
She decides to try the path to the right. The yellow glow of light illuminates the shadows and what she sees sends her reeling backwards. Torch dimming as it hits the sand and extinguishes. Scrambling feet push her to the far end of the chamber, beside the left entrance. Labored breaths come and go as she remembers the past. The zoo, the accident, the security guard. How did this happen? He was dressed in his uniform still but decomposed to the point of no facial recognition. It had to be him, she tells herself. Again, she staggers to her feet. 5 minutes…
Grasping the second torch between the left and middle tunnels, she winces to see what could possibly be down this path. The ground ignites with an elaborate sparkle as prisms capture the light and cast it outwards. A whimpered gasp rises in her throat as she realizes the ground is covered thick in shards of glass. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes as she realizes this was a path she had not traveled yet. Why would she? Turning the light to the walls she sees no bloody markings and if she had passed here before surely there would be blood covering the glass pieces. Gritting her teeth she knows what she must do. Ripping at her ragged clothing she tears lengthy pieces off and begins wrapping them around her feet. It wouldn’t protect them completely, but every little bit helps. 3 minutes...
With as much haste as possible she gingerly steps into the left passage. Biting down hard she tries not to scream in pain as shard after shard presses into her feet. Some stick into her flesh and dig even deeper as her next step is made. The grip she held on the wooden torch grew more intense with each staggered stride. Her eyes pooled with tears, fogging her vision even more. When would the torture end? She cries internally, begging the Gods to save her.
When finally her foot lands upon sand and not glass she gasps in relief. Collapsing to the ground with a desperate cry, she reaches gently for her feet. The torch, fallen beside her, still burns and shows her the extent of the damage. “Owwwww,” she wails between sobs. She reaches to pull a piece of glass from her foot that had penetrated past the layers of fabric. As she extracts it blood soaks the strips of cloth tight against her skin. With any luck it would keep the wound clean and stop the bleeding faster. She continues to pull any remaining glass from her feet before pulling her body towards the hell she just endured. A larger shard may come into use later, she thinks. Taking another strip of the jumpsuit she wraps the base of the shard into a makeshift shank. Then turning to look down the remaining passage she sees nothing but darkness. 0 minutes...
Clank, the sudden noise quickens her heartbeat. With it comes a tingling sensation at the back of her neck. Fumbling in the sands she grabs for the torch and forces herself to stand quickly. Fingers scurry threw her tangled blonde hair to brush across a scar. Pressing on to it she feels something hard under her skin. Her thoughts spin as she makes sense of what it could possibly be. Horrified of her realization, she sharply inhales, “He’s tracking me!” Her hands begin to shake, one holds the torch as the other holds the shank. Her eyes slide to her weapon in thought and its followed by an exhausted huff. Setting the torch in the sand, she raises the sharp piece of glass. Using her free hand she brushes her hair to the side and finds the lump with her fingers. Carefully she brings the shard to meet her free hand. Both begin to shake as she presses the blade into her skin. Cutting away the scarred flesh and using her fingers to dig the tracking device from her neck. Blood covers her hands, but she finds the tiny device in the dim light. Deciding she may need it, she tucks it into the strip of cloth of her shank handle.
Adrenaline dulls the excruciating pain as she stumbles down the dark hall. Brushing against cold walls of stones. A time or two she nearly falls over herself but regains balance using the wall as a crutch. The path twists sharply to the right and then back to the left. As she comes around the corner, a deep rumble echoes from the shadows. She stops abruptly and brings the torch in front of her to light the way. Squinting her eyes, she struggle to find a source of the noise. Until a quick flash of movement and gold causes her to stumble backwards and against the far wall. A screech escapes her lips. Sharp teeth and claws threaten to rip her to pieces as she finds her way is blocked by a young lion. A thick rope, buried in its thin mane, tethers it to a cast iron loop on the far wall. When she discovers it has reached the extent of its leash, and she is just barely out of its reach, she breathes a sigh of relief. It is fleeting though, as she begins to think of how she will get to the next bend of the maze. The creature begins to settle, she is sure she had scared it just as it had scared her. The taut rope loosens as the lion begins to pace back into the darkness. She cant help but notice the display of scars riddled across its hide. Her eyes soften, sympathizing with the great cat. She knew the feeling of being trapped very well.
She knows her time is drained and the man who held her here would soon catch up to her but she can't just leave the lion to its fate here. She notes that the rope is in a dragged loop in the sand and if she can manage to sneak up to it, she could cut him free. The thought of what the then loose beast would do to her crosses her mind, but she dismisses it. Can't be any worse than what she was enduring already. Another idea sparked in her mind just then. The tracking device, she could embed it in the rope remaining tied around the creatures neck. Hopefully leading the hunter away and allowing her more time.
With a deep breath she sticks the torch into the sand. She tiptoes towards the rope laying on the ground halfway down the hall. If the cat should lunge back at her it would be too late to save herself. The pain of each movement courses through her body but she makes it and kneels slowly. The shank readied in her one hand, the other grabbing onto the rope. She begins to slice through the threads with the sharp edge of glass. Her eyes look up to find the cat watching her. Its yellow eyes glowing against the light of the torch. “Its ok...Im going to help you get out of here,” she whispers softly. With a few more passes of the knife, she slices through. Her fingers dig quickly for the tracker that she had tucked into the shreds of fabrics of the blade. Finding it, she presses it firmly into the intact rope and then begins to rise. Backing away towards the burning light, she grabs it from the sands and wields it in front of her. Waving it towards to creature, quietly yelling, “Get! Shoo! Your free… Run!” The lion stares wide-eyed at the orange flames before lunging off into the darkness.
The events so far wear on her and she is worried to find what is next. As she moves along the hall, she notices a newspaper clipping taped to the wall the lion had been tied to. Holding the light to it, she sees a picture of herself and the guard from the zoo. They had been announced heros that day for saving a man's life. She has read this particular entry before but highlighted on this page is a single sentence that said, “a young boy had died while visiting the zoo on his birthday.” Also highlighted was the day of the incident 06-14-2004. Horror ignites in her eyes as she knows what this all is. Someone was targeting her because of that day. That’s why she had found the guard dead in the other passage, the lion trapped in the maze. It was all coming together, but who would do such a thing, she wonders. Who could hate them this much…?
I know you are here Aurora… I’ll find you, the voice of the wicked man rings in her ears. He was coming for her and quickly. Without thinking much more about it she hurries on down the hall. A few extra passages merge and all she can do is guess which one will lead her to freedom. Little does she know that all of them, at some point circle back to the same spot. An iron door centered in a small nook in the stone wall. She rushes to it. Pulling at the handle but it doesn’t budge. There is a chain preventing the door from opening and a padlock binding it together. She drops the shank to the ground and turning the lock in her hand. Using the dimming light of the torch, she sees that she needs 8 numbers. “Uuuughhhh,” she groans yanking at the chain, “Why?!!” She shouts in frustration. Her hand fumbles with the lock again, 8 numbers....
She tries a series of numbers, 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8. Still locked, 8.7.6.5.4.3.2.1. Nope. She thinks harder, 8 numbers… A date! She gasps with excitement as she flips the numbers into the combination lock, 0.6.1.4.2.0.0.4. Pulling hastily downwards the lock snaps open. Her fingers unravel the lock from chain and then pull at the door.
Creak, she swings it cautiously open. Not knowing what or who would be on the other side. She stands silent for a moment. Grasping the torch and pushing it through the opening. Her eyes search frantically for any movement. She holds her breath to hear the slightest of sounds. All she can managed to hear is the own beating of her heart in her eardrums. Bada Bada Bada. Without warning a hand reaches from inside the doorway and grips her arm. She screams and begins to struggle against the pull on her. The torch drops from her hands as she clings to the door frame. She pleads desperately, “No! Please No! Let me go! I’m sorry!!”
Sorry for what Aurora?! Killing my son! The man's voice is heated as he retains his grip on her arm. Thought you could fool me with the lion, didn’t you?! But I knew you’d figure out the clue and piece the puzzle together. Now my sons birthdate will be burned in your memory for the rest of your miserable life! Her eyes behold the mans face in the fading orange glow. Anger creased fine lines in his features as he spat profanities at her. Accusations that she could have done more. That she could have saved the boy from his fate. She begins her plight, “I. I...m sorry. I didn’t.” His voice raising again, Yeah thats right Aurora you DIDN’T do anything! He begins to pull her across the dark room. Her eyes look for any clue to where she was and where he was taking her. A flash of red ignites on the wall, and she knows where she is. She’s back at the beginning. A whirlwind of thoughts explode in her mind as he tugs her to the wooden planked door, “NO! Not again, please.” He yanks her arm, throwing her back into the maze. I’ll make it 8 minutes this time! A malicious cackle erupts from the man as he slams the door shut behind her.
Not all that glitters is gold
Word count: 2,309 (the most I've probably ever written) XD
The water pools in the corner where the ceiling leak steadily fills the puddle.
Inhale
Breathing must slow, control is vital. The pulsing blood thrums in her ears, blocking her ability to think straight.
Cackling
Whipping her head around to search for the source, it sounds as though its coming from every angle in the corridor. Wh-who’s there?!Valensia, that voice, she knows that voice!
Spinning
Gritting her teeth, she pushes off the door frame stumbling forward until her shoulder slams against the opposite wall. The dizziness makes it hard to hold anything down and it doesn’t take a minute for it to come up; the little content she had spills on the floor splashing on her feet.
Scraping
She can’t see anything to make out what is happening, but the squeal of rusted steel lets her know she must get moving NOW. Her arm wrapped around her stomach helps to stabilize her from retching all over the floor again. Stumbling forward she sloshes through the putrid mess without a second thought.
Stumbling
Folded over on shaky legs her steps are short and the cold stone floor scrapes at her toes. Her hands run along the wall searching for any break in the monotony of bricks. As each step brings her nothing Valensia becomes more and more frantic. Grabbing further and further away from her body trying to bring the end of the wall closer. It’s no use Valensia, the voice carries through the corridor and she jerks up turning to search the darkness. Gasping she stumbles backwards disoriented and without direction. What do you want?! fists clench at her sides as she throws her full body into the scream. You, chica, no.
No, no, no, no, no! her breath hitches, its impossible! He would never! Terror courses through her veins, suddenly the drugs don’t matter all that much. She just needs to run, franticly she darts into the blackness going as far and as fast as she can. Whimpering she glances over her shoulder several times forgetting to pay attention to where she is headed. When she hits another wall, she begins clawing at it trying to find any way around it. You don’t really want to leave. He’s right over her shoulder she can feel his breath tickling her ear. Nails bleed as she pries a brick loose from its mortar. Clutching it in both hands she holds it close to her face prepping to swing it. Before she can though the warmth is gone leaving her alone once more in the darkness. Gripping the brick takes all her effort as it grows slick with the blood.
I’ll get you, she hisses, spittle flying from her clenched teeth. Walking backwards along the wall it doesn’t end when she expects it to. The corridor seems to be a lot wider than she remembers from stumbling out of the door. Her eyes strain against the dark searching desperately for something to orientate her position. This place might as well be empty for all she knows about it. Footfalls shuffle somewhere echoing all around her. Valensia begins panting heavily unable to keep control any longer. Please! Just tell me what you want, I’ll do anything! Her desperate plea is met with another chuckle, this one low and gleeful as if he is getting ready to close in on her. Each step carries her further into the unbidding darkness, leaving her with less and less familiarity. As if anything was familiar to begin with. I’ll give you one hint, you spoiled fucking brat, the voice seethes with hatred. Who had she offended THAT badly. Her back brushes against smooth metal and she knows it must be a door. One hand lets go of the brick making it possible for her to search for a knob.
The pitter patter of little mice has her heart pounding loud enough that she is surprised this creep hasn’t heard it yet. Finding the knob her sticky fingers turn it. Shoving all her weight against it she falls into the room her mouth open in shock. She needs to cover her eyes so that she can get used to the dim lighting. How long has she been in the dark? Quietly as she can, Valensia creeps over to the desk. The soft carpet underfoot makes it easy to keep from drawing attention to herself. It looks like a study, full of books, files, and knickknacks; a leather chair, and cherry wood desk sit in the center. Like everywhere else there is no windows, the light comes from a floor lamp in the corner. How can someone even consider setting up in a place as dank and cold as this?
Looking down at the open files spread out on his desk she notices photos of her. She snatches them up after setting down her brick, flipping through them rapidly. Some of them crumple in her nervous grip and others smear with the grime on her hands. There is one of her hugging her brother, another of her on the docks with her lover. Those ones she takes a lingering moment to look at. She must get home to her loved ones. Oh where, oh where could she be. It sounds so close, the sing song chant making her jump slightly. She gathers up the materials scrambling to find a flashlight before he gets in the room. She can hear him approaching the door. Shit, she left it ajar. Looking at each wall she scours for some nook she can hide in. The closet catches her eye. Scurrying over to it she grips the handle when she notices the stain her hands are leaving. Fuck, she curses in her mind, Valensia has merely seconds before he will turn the corner and see her. Ducking under the desk she holds her breath as the door creaks open further. Squeezing her eyes shut tears prick at the corners. Please don’t find me… please don’t find me she can hear him open the closet. The tension in her arms becomes excruciating. Valensia, WHERE had she heard that voice before?! He jaunts to the desk rifling papers above her head. The frantic nature of his search grows, until he growls and swipes everything off including her brick. She clamps her hand over her mouth preventing the gasp to escape. Please don’t see it, but its to late. She watches as slack covered calves turn and walk over to it. Long fingers pick it up for a moment all is silent, and she has no way of knowing what he is going to do.
He walks back over setting the brick on the desk, she takes this moment to breathe adjusting the waistband of her pants that holds the file and flashlight securely to her body. That’s when he chooses to reach his arm under the desk and pull her up by her hair. She squeals and sobs tears running down her face. Please, please no, please don’t do this, the words come out broken and her hands claw at his wrist trying to get him to loosen her hair. Kicking out at him, twisting and turning her sobs continue uncontrollably. Shh, shh, its okay. I have you darling. No need to worry. I’m right here. She quiets a little unsure of what game he’s playing at. That’s it, he croons rancid breath heating her face. She struggles a few more times, but he doesn’t budge. What do you want with me? the whimper is choked with tears. Oh, Valensia doll, you are so beautiful. Can’t you remember me? Squeezing her eyes shut she shakes her head. No, she didn’t want to remember.
Then it comes to her. She takes a second look at him, an eye patch, with a bald strip of mutilated skin on the side of his head. No way… He sees the realization on her face and grins menacingly. That’s right, Val. He pushes her back against the desk leaning in, grazing her creamy throat with his rotten teeth. Erik? she whispers. Bending still further fighting to get away from him she feels the brick digging at her back. Stilling, she forces herself to relax, her fingers drifting down to either side of her on the desk. The filthy pig, but if she doesn’t do this then there goes her chance to get away. Slowly she reaches behind her, his hands chasing hers, lacing his fingers with hers. She gulps, shit. He pulls away looking down at her gloating at having won. Before he can do anything else she mashes her lips to his, doing her best to hold down the bile threatening to rise into her mouth. She untangles her fingers one hand reaching to pull at his hair, hoping its enough to make him think she wants this. He takes the bait pushing himself against her thigh. Dear god it’s so disgusting. Her other hand scrambles reaching for the brick. When she has it, she pulls away from him breathily laughing. He mirrors it with his own. But before he can do anything she uses the brick to bash his head in.
Screaming as he crumples to the floor she doesn’t stop. Falling on her knees over his limp frame she pounds the brick against his skull, blood spurting into her mouth, her eyes, her nose. All she can see is red, and she can’t bring herself to stop. Not even when all that is left is pulp. Most of it on her. When her arms give out from the burn she falls back. Each breath labored and coming from her mouth. Her voice to sore, all that comes out are raspy whimpers. She moves back into the corner wrapping her arms around her knees. What have I done?... Oh my god, what have I done? Rocking on the balls of her feet she lets the sobs wrack her body.
Settling herself takes longer then she thought it would have, and when she does become settled she finds her muscles are cramped and aching. The last of the shudders exhales with her breath and she bends to pick up the files. One photo in particular slips from behind the one of her taking a shower. She takes a closer look at it. Pulling it under the light of the lamp. Fingers shake as they cover her mouth. Oh my god, it’s a police reports photo of the boy Erik. A gunshot wound large enough to blast half the small boys face off. Why the fuck would this sicko have that? Tears fill her eyes; she would never forget that day. He had saved her, the gunshot had caught the attention of the police and the exchange had left one of the gang without an… she looks to the bloody mess in front of her, but it’s gone. There is nothing there except the remains of a broken lamp. Oh god; her stomach lurches and she can’t hold back the vomit dripping down her colorless jumpsuit. Looking down at her arms the only blood there is, is from her nails, the rest of her is drenched in sweat. Its just sweat, not the blood and guts of a human being
Do you understand now? Now she places the voice. The gruff call for his boys to follow him down the alley that day. Y-you. she trails off hoarse from screaming. The man doesn’t look as if she’d done anything to him. His eyepatch still neatly in place and the lines of age and hate mar his features making him contorted and ugly to her. She begins backing away, reaching her hands out behind to guide her way. He continues to stalk towards her eating the ground between them with each step. When she feels the door behind her she darts out running blindly into the dark. You will never escape, you little bitch! It’s booming now, just as she remembers. Never had she thought this day would come for her. She thought she had moved on from the events that took place so long ago, but apparently someone had been stalking her the whole time, waiting to take her and make her pay for her sins. The boy would still be alive if it wasn’t for her. It’s because he met her that he is dead, if she had just been able to stay silent long enough.
Her body pulses with the effects of whatever it was that he used to drug her, and she isn’t sure just how long she has before it will make her pass out. The stomp of boots on stone echo behind her. He’s coming, and there is nothing she can do to stop him. She trips in a puddle but scrambles to get up running before she even manages to get to her feet. She can’t stop, not now, he’s so close, to close. The going is slow, she needs a door, any door, somewhere to hide. Anything to help her kill him. Something. But when she manages to get to full height the flashlight clatters to the floor. Yes! Finally! She lets out a relieved sigh. Snatching it she tries to flick it on, but it doesn’t work, she switches it a few times, when that doesn’t she smacks it against the palm of her hand. No no no no not again! She screams once more pulling at her hair.
She can hear him, just behind her. Taking a swing all that happens is her stepping in the puddle of water once more. She spins around, What’s that. Her eyes dilated, she refuses to close her eye lids fearing what might happen. Leave me alone, PLEASE! she sobs into the darkness. How the hell is she supposed to win this sick game?! At least tell me the rules! that seems to get a response, well you’ve already figured out who I am, I presume. He pauses and she guesses that he expects an answer, yea, you were the punk that was going to kill me after you killed my friend! The approval rings out in his slow clap, very good chica, you’ve also figured out that I’ve been watching you for a very very long time. Now just make your way out of here and you will win She thinks for a moment, how to make her way out of here? She puzzles. There are no doors! she screams stomping her foot in a fit.
She can hear the rustle of his clothes, he’s to close, she must begin moving again. Taking off she ponders his words, make her way out… make her way out. The laughter follows her, make… she places her hand on the wall. With a deep breath she closes her eyes drawing a door where her hand is in her mind. Opening one eye she glimpses at the result. It worked! She rushes through the door, but not before he grabs her hand, she tries to yank away, bracing herself on the door as it cuts into her arm. She gives a hard pull, scraping, and bruising her arm, but it manages to bring his hand far enough in to bite at his wrist while the rest of her body pushes against the door. She rips into his skin tearing and shredding flesh between her teeth. The growl lets her know that its working. Bitch, you can’t escape me! One last gush of blood floods her mouth and the door slams shut disappearing. Collapsing against the place it had been just a moment ago, she takes in the fresh air slumping there with her eyes closed. It’s over, it’s really over. The metallic taste isn’t as sharp when she spits out the chunk of flesh she had taken.
Valensia takes in a few more ragged breaths before opening her eyes. What she sees is the white of the page with her name in blocky letters next to her. Her soul sinks in despair, NO! she screams. Part of her wants to give up, whimpering, I just want to go home! She curls up on her side hoping that she can wake from these nightmares and by laying snug between her brothers, father and mother who all love and dote on her every whim.
AuroraElis
