Author: FebruaryBabes02 PM
Sometimes death isn't the hardest thing to accept. Please read and review.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Tragedy - Words: 817 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 09-29-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3061812
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A/N: Please review? It would really mean a lot. And if you could please take the time to look at some of my other short stories, that too would be appreciated. Follow on Twitter FebBabes02
Piercing screams rent the air. Smoke and haze made it impossible to discern anything further than a metre away from you. Explosions shook the earth 'til you had no choice but to fall to your knees.
Melbourne was crumbling before my tired, watering eyes, and I was helpless. I could only watch as my once beautiful city was reduced to nothing more than rubble.
I crawled across the cracked ground, desperate to get away, searching for survival. I was praying to any deity that might take pity on me even though I had always been firmly non-religious.
No salvation came. No beams of light descended from the Heavens to carry me away.
Not that I'd have been able to see much if they had.
Another explosion rocked the ground. My screams joined those of others, and I cowered away from the concrete slabs that fell, crushing everything in their wake.
I wasn't fast enough.
As if in slow motion, I watched as half a wall was ripped apart from the closest building and began tipping over, unbalanced.
I was unable to do anything but close my eyes as it fell.
Everything went black.
When I came around I was aware of the throbbing pain that came from bruises all over my aching body. I tried to cringe away from the pain but all I heard was the clinking of chains. I was unable to move.
My hands were chained to a pole.
I screamed once, loudly. Whether it was out of shock or horror, I have no idea. It didn't matter, as I was silenced, immediately.
A loud thump sounded against a wooden door, followed by a harsh voice.
"Shut it!" the voice was low, and with a strange accent, I noted. It sounded almost like he chewed the ends of the words in his mouth before vocalising them.
My scream cut off, but my eyes were still frozen wide open in fear. I stared blankly at my surroundings, unable to take anything in apart from the cold concrete under my aching body.
I couldn't recall the events that led me to this cage, everything lost in a blur of panicked emotions. The last I remembered was the war, the dreaded war. They had invaded our country, destroyed my beloved city, and ruined the last hope I may have had of carrying on a normal life by chaining me to a pole.
A tear slid down my cheek. Then another, and another. Before I knew it they were cascading down my face like a waterfall, each one tracing its own separate path.
I watched, almost entranced, as a tear finally fell free from my face, and dropped to the concrete floor, making a perfect circle.
A circle for wholeness.
Another tear dropped.
A circle for unity.
One more tear descended.
A tear for perfection.
A quiet, choked laugh forced its way out from my mouth. It was a bitter sound, coloured with a horrible mockery.
I didn't move for hours. Just stared unseeing as the tears eventually dried up. Consciousness slipped from me, as I fell into an uneasy and unrestful sleep.
I was awoken by food being shoved through the door and placed in front of me. I was forced to eat like a dog, degrading me further. Humiliation oozed from every pore in my body.
Soon I wasn't able to move my feet, the muscles had wasted away to practically nothing.
It was the same monotony day after day, week after week, and month after month.
I didn't know how long I'd been confined when something finally happened. It could have been years. I could barely remember the sight of daylight, or the taste of differing foods. They were all distant memories to me; torture almost, a reminder of what would never be.
The door was slammed unceremoniously against the wall. I jerked out of my stupor as someone entered. Then another person, holding a clipboard.
It was then, when I looked at the first person to enter, that I saw the knife he was holding, already spattered with blood.
I knew my fate then. Knew I was to die.
I welcomed it, as barren lands welcome the rain.
A quick death was better than slow torture. I would die from being confined I knew, but my body had refused to let me go, holding out with a small hope survival.
I was forced to my knees by the brute with the knife. I barely noticed the pain, caught up as I was within my own mind.
The knife was placed at my throat.