Putz12 Plus One

TWENTY SIX | BLOOD, INK AND TEARS

It was cold and isolated. No jail bars, only a transparent box to keep them inside perhaps forever. The breeze struck him with an unfathomable numbness, one could which only be described as a mixture of pain and shock. There was a faint blue light emitting from the top of the chamber which they were locked in. And despite not being able to see her, he knew that right by his side was Iza.

But she didn't say anything. He couldn't hear anything but the wailing and whining of his own thoughts. Every mistake, from not yanking her hand and dragging her away from this shady place, from the moment he lost the keys in impulsive celebratory action, from his inability to save her. And it hit him like the cold did. Like his dry mouth and empty stomach. I couldn't save Iza. And I can't save myself. And if I can't even do that...

The clock struck ten and he felt doom upon them. This was it. There was no rewinding. When he closed his eyes he saw the holes in the sky, he felt the rumbling creep up on him, the goosebumps manifest. He thought for a long while whether or not to wake her. If she needed rest. If he...

Ink. What hurt her can save her. He got up, feeling around, until finally he felt something squishy. He grabbed it, and felt himself turning blue. Oh. He felt around for her shoulders just above, and gently brought her under the light. There she was, her hair looking purple now and her breathing so gentle. But that she didn't wake up when he moved her wasn't a good sign. He breathed in and accepted his fate. He felt around her body, feeling weird for doing it. Yet the memory of the clock rang in his head so severely he knew he had no choice. It was then he remembered his brother. The drowning. The ink...

His fingers traced on her head, feeling the warmth of her cheeks even in her rest. At the top of her head he squeezed lightly, and yet no ink produced. He didn't want to assume it came from her breasts. Because knowing his luck she'd awaken in an accusatory state, so his hands went down, and he put pressure on each arm, then her fingers, then smoothed over to her stomach, flatter than ever. A moment of pity enveloped him. That girl's gotta get a sandwich sometime. Maybe we could eat one together, up at the restaurants. All the things she's never done, this girl. He returned focus to his objective and silently cursed himself for digressing. And lightly, gently, he pushed on her stomach and...

Ink. Pink ink. "YES!" He shouted for joy and she slowly woke up and her eyes darted to the floor in a horrific manner.

"Oh! WHAT?! Putz?! I--" Her face had life in it again and rose came back to her cheeks. "I'm sorry! I was asleep, I--"

"You recovered, is what!"

The sounds of scraping returned like from before, so he pushed her to the corner. Devilish laughing echoed from the walls and the two backed up into the darkness, as if they could hide from their captors. Once the footsteps trailed off, they waited some time before coming back under the light.

"They're gone now. At least I think." He whispered.

"Great, now what do we do?"

Apologize. The words 'I'm sorry' floated around in his head. But he shuddered upon their essence. Finally he sighed. "I. Can't." He sat down and dust puffed up.

"What was that?"

"I can't."

"I heard you. I mean, we're alone here there's no noise."

"Yeah?" He never felt so despicable. It was a good thing his dualies were gone, forever. Indeed it was a trash weapon. "Iza, mind telling me something?"

She huddled up against the wall and thought about her friends, what grave trouble they were in. All because of her! She bit her lip, hoping it would be a normal question. "Sure?"