✓ DYING MOURNINGS, original

twenty-four : T A K E N

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𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 : 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐃

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I spat blood out into the grass as I wheezed, unable to breathe through my clogged nose. It felt like it was broken, oh god, it was definitely broken.

I sat up on my elbows, trying to ease the air through my lungs and out my mouth. I didn't think the man was going to hit me that hard, but he wasn't just here because of the money promised to him.

He was here for revenge. Revenge for a fallen comrade.

Michael West wore a monochrome navy blue suit over a turtleneck sweater of the same color. His shoes were black and looked new, expensive even. He's got good taste, I thought to myself and bit back a sickly sweet grin that was surely bloodied. His dark hair looked freshly dyed and was slicked back, save for the two strands that had fallen near his face, free from the thick coating of gel by the rain and the force in which he had hit me.

"Why are you smiling?" he sneered and I looked up at him through the haze of black dots and misty rain. I hadn't even realized I had actually started to smile until he pointed it out, the pain registering in my face from the expression.

Smile because you're going to die. Smile because you won't make it out of here alive.

"Just-just your outfit," I said, licking my lips and wincing at the split in my bottom lip. "Very fashionable."

"You little bitch," he hissed, wrenching me to my knees with a handful of my hair. "You're lucky I've allowed you to live this long."

I breathed heavily through clenched teeth as he forced me to look at him, his fingers wound tight in the locks of my hair. "How thoughtful of you." Keep calm, just breathe, and don't say anything to provoke him. You're angry and hurt, don't lash out like you want to. I listened to the thoughts in my head as he smiled.

He reached out with his free hand, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand softly. "They said you were pretty, but not this pretty." He ran his thumb under one of my eyes and I held back a grimace, his touch feeling like dread. "It's a shame that I have to carve up this pretty face."

He flicked his wrist and the small pocket knife I had noticed before sprang free, the blade clicking loudly into place. I scrunched my mouth up as I pulled back as far as I could without the painful strain in my scalp. My jacket was somewhere behind me and I just needed to reach it before West struck.

Come on, come on, think!

My hands were free and my legs weren't bound, I was more in control than he'd realized. I jutted my hand out and at his throat, hitting him hard like I had seen in a movie not long ago. It was enough to have him loosen his hold and for his face to go red as he coughed and choked.

I moved while I could, flinging myself backwards and to my jacket. I pulled open the pocket and pulled Spiorad free as West pawed the ground for his knife. I stood on weak legs, my knees covered in mud and gravel, my hands shaking only slightly. My head ached and my cheek and lip were already swelling, feeling tight as I breathed out slowly.