Writers Around the World - Anthology (Volume One) Page 7

April Theme

  Eleanor Stoddard

   

   Deeply, I breathe. Shuddering, I feel the gashes across my sides sting violently. Tears pour down my face as the metal cuffs grating my skin, warm thin blood trickles down my arms.

  As if a bolt of lightning shot through me, the man kicks the small of my back. I don't want to cry out but it escapes me. I pull away from him, well I try to. The chains stop me cutting further into my ankles. He kicks me, spitting he whispers "mutt". He bends down and grabs my face his dirty nails clawing into me. He comes closer; his sour breath felt wretched across my neck and slammed my head on the concrete floor. I scream.

  Standing above me he chuckles and I hear his heavy boots drag across the floor. The door opens, light tending to my wounds. Then it slams shut leaving me alone; again the

  darkness swallows me. The only light screams at me from the crack below the door. Wincing, I move trying to get into a more lifelike position, not comfortable; with this pain you are never comfortable. Exhausted, I try to sleep. When I drift off, I won’t be having a nightmare. I am living the nightmare.

  Excerpt of Chapter Two

  “Black Vengence”

  Varun Prabhu