Stop the Bleeding

Dahlia

Restlessness engulfs me like a relentless flame. I toss and turn; the bedsheet wraps around me like a tangled web. In a state of disgust and accepting defeat in my quest for sleep, I reluctantly open my eyes, fixing them on the ceiling, where the silhouette of a tree branch outside my window creates an intricate pattern.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling that moves outward from my chest, settling on top of it instead. Slowly, it occurs to me what this feeling is. It isn’t restlessness or discomfort. It’s unease.

Tonight, it’s going to happen. As if my mind has conjured them, my bedroom door disintegrates into a myriad of tiny fragments. There’s no time to think as four strong men drag me from my bed. My throat constricts as panic washes over me.

Throughout our lives, we are constantly reminded to be cautious and skilled in combat, as they strike under the cover of darkness when we are most vulnerable. Despite the warning, you hope that it won’t happen to you. It doesn’t happen to everyone. But I’ve always known that I was unlucky. Naively, I thought since my eighteenth birthday was last week that I made it. That I was overlooked.

All my self-defense training couldn’t help me out of their stronghold. Panic ebbs away as terror claws at me, taking root in its place. Even with the training, there’s no way we could win a fight against vampires.

Nothing but silver bullets would help me and there was no time to grab the gun from underneath my mattress. A shrill scream rips through me, and fear made tears crowd my eyes.

Through my blurry vision, a pair of glowing crimson eyes peer down at me. They belong to a man. His hair long, scraggly, and balding on top. He licks his yellow overlapped teeth, looking like a lizard, and then a muzzle is shoved on my head.

There’s a metal-type mouthpiece that I have no option but to separate my lips and teeth as the contraption is clamped behind my head. I’m shackled and shoved into a cage. “Let her go.” I spot Daddy running toward me with a gun in his hand. For a split second, we make eye contact. Time slows, and I know somewhere deep within myself that this is the last time I’ll see him.

I bite down on the bit in my mouth, letting the anguish smother me. Tears flow freely. A couple of fires are shot, but he misses. I only know because there’s no ruckus to signal someone has been hurt. “It’s going to be alright.” I barely hear my father’s panicked voice as we drive away. Pain holds me tighter. He tried to soothe me, even when we both know it’s helpless.

There’s no coming back. When you’re taken, that’s it. The Cacciatore will drink from me until there’s nothing left. My missing picture will hang next to the others on the school bulletin board.