Writing is my passion. If I don't write daily, I feel like my day is incomplete. I wrote this to...
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The reality of a nightmare
“What are you doing?!” I screamed, furiously to the shack doors. “We made a deal!”
I pulled on the rope hard as I could, tried crawling across the bed as far as I could go, my left arm behind me, jerking against it's shackles. Common sense came back to me in my emotional haste, and I started gnawing at the rope, only managing to get it wet and leaving the taste of gasoline in my mouth. Pretty soon I saw his shadow stalking towards the shed, with a menacing kick the door flew open.
There was blood on his hands and arms, he was grinning madly looking at me with narrowed eyes.
“For his life-not his finger,” he murmured, looking pleased with himself as he tossed a bloody finger wearing a ring onto the bed, and I jumped up and started screaming. “He no longer has a commitment to you anymore, I'm afraid he's lost his ring-ha-ha-ha!”
I gasped and choked against the farthest wall I was cramming myself against as he bellowed in laughter.
“Please-stop hurting him!”
He shook his head at that, “No.” he pointed up at me. “That, I'm afraid, will require more from you.”
John's ring finger was curled and bloody on the sheets, staining them. It's pinkness showed that it had been recent, I fell on my knees and wailed, thinking of what John had to go through.
“Don't worry, I cauterized it.” he added as a second thought, looking at me, almost in a concerned way. He then grinned, and picked it up, studying it. He jerked off the ring and tossed John's finger out of the shack, examining it. “I promise you...” he murmured, reading the inscription. I hid my hand behind my back.
“Please, let me sew it back on, let me see him! Just let me do something, please!”
He looked at me straight in the eyes, “No.”
He glanced at the ring again, then glared at me, skeptically. “So tell me, did you both screw each other, or did you keep your promises?” he asked, vulgarly, clearly mocking us.
“Yes.” I answered, out of breath from the pain.
“We kept our promise.” I muttered, looking at the shed in tears though the rusty bars of the window.
He looked away in disgust of my crying. “Good.” he shrugged.
“Good for what? You? What do you mean, good?” I snapped, hair sticking to my wet, tear-stained face.
“I think you know what I mean.” he answered roughly, tossing the ring up in the air and catching it as he left the shack.
A silent, horrific realization swept over me and I was paralyzed to the spot. I breathed in air that seemed cold, despite the heat. My face felt frozen, thinking of what he may be planning. My eyes drifted to the nightstand, which had been placed strategically, two feet away from the bed out of my reach. I heard the erupting rumble of his car. He was leaving, I heard it's rumble grow farther and farther.
I have to reach the dresser. Laying on my back I reached out my right arm and could only touch my fingertips to the edge of the nightstand's drawer. But my nails were long. I edged them under the drawer's side and painfully, milliliter by milliliter-stretching my nails nearly from the skin, I got it open about three inches. Then, stretching my body as much as possible, I stuck my middle finger about one inch into the drawer-and felt nothing to latch it onto.
“Uhh!” I fell back, relieving my cramped body.
“No-oo!” I pleaded to the air, pounding my fists into the mattress.
Closing my eyes, I pictured John. Missing his finger, holding a bloody hand in shackles, chained to the wall like an animal.
I stretched over and shut the drawer. There had to be other options.
On my knees, I squinted down the dark corner, where the pole of the bed frame was. Somewhere down there the rope ended, and I might be able to uncover a weak spot. Sucking in a breath, I knew that I might get bit by a poisonous tarantula, but I had to take the risk.
I moaned as I slinked down my arm, this time gliding my hand around the rope to find it's end. I felt spider webs, but continued-and I touched smooth metal. What? I felt all around the fuzzy rope-it joined into a metal holder of some sort, I moaned again in frustration, but continued to glide my hand around the metal. And then I felt a lock. Furious, I jerked the rope-over and over, I did this for hours, screaming in a trapped hysteria, as the bed squeaked like chalk against my ears, and I got nowhere.
After a while I stopped, and just lay sprawled on the bed, panting. I lay on top of the tarantula's guts, the Twinkie wrapper and the stain of John's blood.
Eventually I heard the sound of two cars, I shot up thinking there must be help on the way-he must have gotten caught. After the torture of trying to look around the door, and hearing the cars come ever closer, they both stopped in front of my view.
One was a large, fancy motor-home, and the other was Raiden's car. Raiden got out of it, holding a gun to the passenger side, his towering height enhanced even more when he pulled out a small woman by her hair, she was screaming shrilly, and at this a balding man wearing a Hawaii t-shirt got out of the motor-home with his hands up.
“Please don't hurt my wife-please!” the man yelled.
Raiden seemed to revel in the pain he was causing him as he jerked her hair again, making her scream some more, and then after watching the man's pained reaction and listening to more of his pleads, he got bored and threw her onto the ground towards her husband. As she started crawling towards her husband I heard a loud POP! The balding man's body was thrown back as blood spattered behind him, and as the woman screamed I heard two more loud pops blasting through my ears as her body was jutted forward twice against the ground. Raiden lowered the gun and walked over to them, his towering figure looking at their fallen bodies. I shook my head, “...no...” This isn't happening. I sucked in air-I didn't have any, I needed it-I gagged and gasped for breath-he started dragging her husband away as everything went black.