Post by bree anise ripsen on Dec 21, 2012 17:23:24 GMT
| [atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, background: #ebdfc3; padding: 4px; width: 400px; height: 300px; border-right: #3085bc 4px dotted; border-top: #3085bc 4px dotted; border-left: #3085bc 4px dotted; border-bottom: #3085bc 4px dotted;] i'm a walking travesty  but i'm smiling at everything It wasn't even that late. Just gone seven 'o' clock in the evening. However, because of the time of year, the only light that was available to a young water sprite at that moment was coming from dimly-lit streetlamps over her head. It shouldn't have been that dangerous, just around the corner from her shop was her house. It'd been a route that she'd walked several times, both in the dark and during the day. Simple. Wasn't it? Yeah, she'd done this a million times. She turned to face the door, put her key in the lock and turned it until she heard a click. There. It was all locked up, just the back lights on, ready for work in the morning. She had quite a busy day tomorrow. Lots of order forms had to be filled out, inventory had to be done. And Bree was just the person that had been given that task to do. She didn't mind, though. She loved her job so much. She shoved her keys in her pocket, checked that the door had locked once last time, and left. Sometimes, the walk home was a blessing. She could reflect on the day's events, and no one could really judge her for daydreaming. That was what you were supposed to do, wasn't it? While you were walking. You daydreamed. So what if it wasn't what you were supposed to do? Bree liked to do it. She liked to think about things that had happened during the day. However, this particular night, the walk home was probably the worst moment in the young woman's life. It'd started off okay. It was quite nice, actually. As she walked along, the cold air hit her, which felt rather soothing against her warm skin. Occasionally, the florist got really stuffy, so it was kind of nice being out in the cold. It cooled her down a lot, which she welcomed. And the good thing was, she'd be home before she got too cold. Or at least, that was what she thought. What she didn't count on was that there'd be other people around. When she daydreamed, she tended to shut the world around her out completely. It was both right and stupid. So she didn't really think about who would be around as she walked home. Honey Tree was basically the world's safest place anyway. Bree had hardly met anyone , but those she had met were all fairly decent, nice people. Not really capable of hurting anyone. So it completely took her by surprise when strong arms grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into a side alley. This alley wasn't lit at all, it was just pitch black, which made her feel uneasy to begin with. And whoever had pulled her in here... maybe it was Brent or Seb or someone? Trying to play a joke on her? She'd make sure she scolded them later. She wasn't really scared, per se, as much as slightly surprised. Well, okay. Extremely surprised. Yeah, they'd be in trouble; it'd made her jump out of her skin. "G-God," she murmured, giggling nervously at her own stupidity whilst trying to twist free of the person's grip. She went to open her mouth, to continue talking, say that they scared the shit out of her. But the words never came. Because, at that moment, she heard something that made her blood turn to ice. "Shh. Not a peep. Or else." She froze completely. That voice. She didn't recognize it. No, not anyone she knew. No. No no no no no. The small, sheepish smile she'd had on her face dropped immediately as all these thoughts ran through her head. She was in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. The voice was male, deep, hushed. Intimidating. God. No. She felt large, icy fingers hook into the waistband of her jeans. And that was what completely sent her reeling, the realization that she was in serious, serious trouble. Her breathing quickened, her eyes went wide, and a small, strangled noise left her lips. No. No! This wasn't happening. This was all some fucked-up nightmare. She'd wake up in a minute. She was just dreaming. But everything felt so real. Especially when a scream, her scream, tore the air. Also when, as a reflex, her elbow jarred and flew into the man's ribcage. For a moment, everything was a blur. He staggered backwards, releasing his grip on her jeans. She darted in the opposite direction, only to realize that she didn't know where she was, didn't know what to do. The dark just made everything more confusing. She couldn't see anything. She could just hear him. Groaning in pain, grumbling in anger. Footsteps. Shit. "You little bitch!" the voice said, chilling her to her very core. She felt a hand grab the neck of her shirt, bunching up into his fist. She was forcibly turned to face him, feeling his angry breath, tainted by the smell of alcohol, in her face. She could feel one of his hands at her neck, but where was the other? Her terrified eyes darted around, seeing if she could make out the shape of the person in front of her. She could, just about. A brief moment of respite flooded her when she realized that his hand was just by his pocket. Good. He wasn't going to attempt to-- Her train of thought was immediately cut off, and fear filled her once more as she saw a frightening gleam. Metal. And the way his fist was bunched around a part of it that Bree couldn't see... she figured that the part he was holding must have been non reflective, like wood or plastic. Wood/Plastic, metal, pocket sized. That could only mean one thing. A knife. Before she even had time to react, even to draw breath to scream, a searing pain leached through her body, tearing from her abdomen outwards. He'd... oh, god, she could actually feel the knife in her body. It was cold, freezing actually, and the pain was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It pulsed through every vein, every artery, every cell in her body. She heard a high pitched, ragged, loud noise in the air as she was dropped to the ground, struggling for breath. It took her a while to register that it was her own scream, pain filled, desperate, frightened. She heard the quick, thudding footsteps of the man as he fled. The coward. She hadn't got a good look at his face, hadn't seen him. That wasn't useful. Ah, what use was she anyway. She was as good as dead, lying in an alleyway, breathing in ragged sobs. She was a goner. And she knew it. Or maybe not. She had her phone. She couldn't remember for the life of her whether or not it was charged enough, but she had it on her. It was a plan. Or at least, a straw to clutch at. She could call for help. She could maybe get out of this alive. She didn't know. Everything was so uncertain. She lifted her hand, traversed it down to where her phone was; in the front pocket of her jeans. However, when her hand met the material, she felt something warm, something wet that smelled like metal. And... god. She fished her phone out of her pocket with her other hand, and when the light lit up the alley with an eerie light, she saw her fingers absolutely caked in red. Blood. Her own blood. With her panicked, breathy sobs getting quicker with this realization, she opened up her contacts list and hit the first name she came across. She didn't look to see who it was. Her battery was running out. She had to be quick. Looking for a contact in particular would take up too much time to be healthy. She needed help; she didn't care who from. The minute the phone on the other end clicked in answer, she spoke. "Help. P-Please. I-I'm... I'm d-dying." Before she could say anything else, the phone cut out. Great. Her battery had died. Meaning that someone had gotten a call from her, asking for their help, when they had absolutely no idea what had happened or where she was. Fat lot of good that did. So far, things were looking as bleak as they could possibly look. She was on her own, on a night that had radically dropped in temperature, bleeding to death in an alleyway, at the mercy of complete and utter strangers. She had no help. Just one person, one person who knew that she needed help. And they didn't know where to find her to give her that help. One thing was for sure; she was in trouble. She laid her head down on the cold ground, her breathing choppy and shallow, as she closed her eyes, accepting her inevitable fate. OUTFIT: CLICKY! TAGGED: BRENTIE BOO NOTES: THIS KILLED ME TO WRITE WORD COUNT: 1,539 |
