Like a Knife
A strangled scream ripped through the peaceful air.
The sudden sound tugged at her frightened and painfully selfish heart. Ripples of fear shot through her trembling body.
Yet she couldn’t close her ears to the beating, the begging, the sound of bodies being shot.
She ran.
Her dark ebony locks were matted against her forehead, sticky from the sweat. They flew in her eyes, tangled with her vision, but all she could see was darkness anyway. The crunching of dry plants underneath her bare feet and the thick, fluid movement of mud were nothing compared to her pounding heart. The cool air beat against her hot skin. Shards of glass dug into her flesh, warm red liquid flowing from the cuts.
She fell.
Dirt flew into her mouth, where the metallic taste of blood was still fresh. She choked and coughed and spluttered at the smell of death. Her eyes couldn’t see past the tall, dead grass. She looked down at what she tripped over to see the mangled remains of an arm. Its fingers were tight, clutching onto something precious. She eyed the diamond ring.
The sight of the torn skin and spilt blood made her hurl. Her hands clawed around, catching spiderwebs and empty wind. Another gunshot went off. She forced herself up and ran, pushing herself until her legs felt like rubber.
Her words repeated through her racing mind.
Run, Cassidy. Run.
Don’t ever look back.
