I leap to my feet, and my legs promptly give way under me. I’ve been locked in position too long, and they ache, and I can’t co-ordinate myself. Shit, I can barely see.
I’m going to die.
I’m up, I’m up. The first shot at me misses, goes so wide I can’t help but think it was supposed to. A sick, dark feeling settles in my stomach and it hits me that death isn’t the worst thing that could be about to happen to me.
This time, pure fear and adrenaline get my legs working. I’m clumsy as shit, blundering out into the open like all I want to do is end myself, but I’m going forward, forward, and that’s good. The scorpion is behind me, latching on to this new unarmed target. Shoot at that thing, I pray desperately. Shoot at that thing.
A bullet catches me in the leg and I go down. I scream, my vision going white. I have never felt this much pain. It’s like burning, like tearing, and I can feeling the hot and metal of a bullet wedged in there, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, and my vision clears and all I can see is pincers and carapace and –
More bullets, and I don’t think I’ve stopped screaming yet. The scorpion slumps. Shit, shit, stop making noise, get up, come on, Carla, come on.
I stagger up, but there’s no way my leg is taking me anywhere. I collapse back down in agony as soon as I try to put any weight on it, and in moments, they’re on me. There’s three of them, all wearing masks or bandanas. I can’t make out their faces, but their hands, their hands I recognise. They’re ghouls.
One of them rasps dryly; something like a laugh comes out. I feel sick and scared and dizzy and I can fucking feel the blood leaking out of me. My brain feels like it can’t decide whether or not to give up or hold on – I’m shitting myself at the thought of passing out, not being able to fight back, but fuck, what can I do?
Oblivion – unconsciousness – it might be better...
Someone grabs my shoulder, dragging me. I cry out as they pull, hard, and I feel something click and crack. Something hits me around my face.
“Shut up, bitch!” someone hisses. Another voice laughs. The guy holding my shoulder pulls me again. I choke on something – words, air, dust, I don’t know – and go limp, dropping onto the dust and rubble as he drops me.
I see a foot coming towards my face, and –
*
I am sick. I am shaking.
I can’t feel the whole left side of my body. My lips are cracking. My throat is dry and tight.
It’s dark and I can’t see much. I can feel that I am tied, bound. Every piece of feels empty and strung out and scared.
Someone notices I’m awake. A face drifts in front of me. It occurs to me how low my tolerance for pain is, and I kind of wish I would just die.
The guy is smiling toothily, and then he slaps me. That jolts me, just enough, into working out what’s going on.
There are three of them. They have guns. They’re wearing leather – metal? – some kind of armour, spiky, heavy duty. All ghouls. They look cruel. They are laughing. I think it’s at me.
“Ready for some fun, smoothskin?” growls the guy in front of me. My whole world suddenly focuses in on him – his smell, his face, the glint of the knife in his hand.
I think I’m all out of pain to feel, and then the knife digs into my cheek.
I’m screaming again when he says something about taking off my face and bringing me down a peg or two. I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything about the fire of the line being drawn down my face.
I close my eyes, my throat is raw. I don’t see it when it happens.
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timeasmymeasure
Skinless 3b/?
Date: 2012-05-16 12:57 pm (UTC)I’m going to die.
I’m up, I’m up. The first shot at me misses, goes so wide I can’t help but think it was supposed to. A sick, dark feeling settles in my stomach and it hits me that death isn’t the worst thing that could be about to happen to me.
This time, pure fear and adrenaline get my legs working. I’m clumsy as shit, blundering out into the open like all I want to do is end myself, but I’m going forward, forward, and that’s good. The scorpion is behind me, latching on to this new unarmed target. Shoot at that thing, I pray desperately. Shoot at that thing.
A bullet catches me in the leg and I go down. I scream, my vision going white. I have never felt this much pain. It’s like burning, like tearing, and I can feeling the hot and metal of a bullet wedged in there, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, and my vision clears and all I can see is pincers and carapace and –
More bullets, and I don’t think I’ve stopped screaming yet. The scorpion slumps. Shit, shit, stop making noise, get up, come on, Carla, come on.
I stagger up, but there’s no way my leg is taking me anywhere. I collapse back down in agony as soon as I try to put any weight on it, and in moments, they’re on me. There’s three of them, all wearing masks or bandanas. I can’t make out their faces, but their hands, their hands I recognise. They’re ghouls.
One of them rasps dryly; something like a laugh comes out. I feel sick and scared and dizzy and I can fucking feel the blood leaking out of me. My brain feels like it can’t decide whether or not to give up or hold on – I’m shitting myself at the thought of passing out, not being able to fight back, but fuck, what can I do?
Oblivion – unconsciousness – it might be better...
Someone grabs my shoulder, dragging me. I cry out as they pull, hard, and I feel something click and crack. Something hits me around my face.
“Shut up, bitch!” someone hisses. Another voice laughs. The guy holding my shoulder pulls me again. I choke on something – words, air, dust, I don’t know – and go limp, dropping onto the dust and rubble as he drops me.
I see a foot coming towards my face, and –
*
I am sick. I am shaking.
I can’t feel the whole left side of my body. My lips are cracking. My throat is dry and tight.
It’s dark and I can’t see much. I can feel that I am tied, bound. Every piece of feels empty and strung out and scared.
Someone notices I’m awake. A face drifts in front of me. It occurs to me how low my tolerance for pain is, and I kind of wish I would just die.
The guy is smiling toothily, and then he slaps me. That jolts me, just enough, into working out what’s going on.
There are three of them. They have guns. They’re wearing leather – metal? – some kind of armour, spiky, heavy duty. All ghouls. They look cruel. They are laughing. I think it’s at me.
“Ready for some fun, smoothskin?” growls the guy in front of me. My whole world suddenly focuses in on him – his smell, his face, the glint of the knife in his hand.
I think I’m all out of pain to feel, and then the knife digs into my cheek.
I’m screaming again when he says something about taking off my face and bringing me down a peg or two. I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything about the fire of the line being drawn down my face.
I close my eyes, my throat is raw. I don’t see it when it happens.