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The tearing of saws through my arm is like getting hit with a tidal wave. A scream comes up my throat but is quickly choked back by a sob. The pain nearly makes me drop my knife but I catch myself—and it—before doing so.
I stumble back. I breath out. I blink. My visions swimming, because of blood loss or tears I don’t know, though the figure looming over me is hard to miss. They’re so big and I can’t tell if that’s because I’m on the floor. I’m so small and I can’t tell if that’s because they’re so big or if they’re normal and I’m small or if they’re big and I’m normal or if loosing a limb gives me less volume. Sensibly, that last one is the correct answer because, sensibly, me and them are the same size—and would be the same volume, if my arm was still part of me.
And,
Sensibly,
This is a stupid thread of thoughts to be following.
You’re fighting for you’re life, Chara. Scratch that, you’re fighting for your family’s life—the lives of which are gone. You’re fighting for the lives they had. For the love of everything you love, stop spiraling and focus.
I breath in. I breath out. I blink. My vision still hasn’t cleared. I realize they’re just standing there. How long have I been out for? Why aren’t they doing anything?
I must look pathetic.
I close my mouth, realizing it’s been hanging open, swallow, dryly, then find I have to open it again to actually breathe. The exertion of fighting is starting to catch up with me. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.
In. Out. I tighten my grip of the knife, though I’m aware it’s probably not very tight at all. My hand is weak and stings as if it was the one that got ripped off.
I can’t think like that. Not now. I can’t doubt myself. I have to try. I have to keep trying, until it is physically and spiritually imposable for me to do so. If I don’t I might as well be kicking dirt on the lives of my family.
They step forward. The rev of an engine sounds like a fright train in my ears and I nearly collapse. I scream, I think. It’s hard to hear over that.
…
It seems to amuse them. The engine quiets and I hear a light giggle from them. Soundwaves drench me in self hatred and doubt.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.
“You still alive in there?”
I’m breathing too fast to answer. I’m breathing too hard to focus. My visions like a whirlpool and I don’t think it’s from blood loss. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Either way my legs are giving out.
Two arms catch me. I’m shifted until I’m looking at what I’m pretty sure is a face but looks like nothing more than a vaguely rectangular brown blob. They’re oddly—uncomfortably close, I can’t get my arm to push them away.
“Guess not.”
Gently and much to easily the knife is taken from my hand.
“Consider this mercy.” They mutter as a point is pressed against my throat. “I’m not heartless enough to leave you to bleed out, after all.”
pain. a whine.
yet you’re heartless enough to drag this on.
seconds pass. “ah, Put a good word in for me with the devil for me while you get the chance, yeah?”
“…don’t worry. You won’t be staying with him for long.”