Trapped In The Serpent's Teeth

00 | Prologue : The Ruination

"I am someone who did not die
when I should have died."

- Anne Carson,
Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides.

"Being Soft doesn't mean that you're Weak, It means that you're Strong.'' That's what they told her fifteen-year-old self, and what a bunch of bullshit that turned out to be.

Yes, she was soft but at the end of the day, she never felt strong; Instead, all she ever felt was weak and pain; Oh God, The Pain. Her pain was a raging fire with ravenous hunger, that swallowed her up as if she was dipped in Gasoline, and spit her back out empty and cold; Oh, So Cold.

All that was soft in her, was trampled over by the monsters who took her, Leaving nothing but the scarred planes behind.

Maybe, she should have never been Strong.

"No matter how worse it gets, If you can smile at the end of the day, You Win; It doesn't mean that you're Naive or Dumb, It means that you're Brave." That's what her father told her on her sixteenth birthday. "But that doesn't mean that you should take anyone's shit, You throw it back ten times worse, my little storm." Her mother added as she popped a little icing on her soft button nose and the whole room erupted in giggles.

At least that was somewhat true; When she smiled at the end, All of the monsters shrank back a little, for a moment they stared at her as if she was something to be afraid of, as if she wasn't the girl they abducted. Then the moment would pass and the monsters would devour her in their monstrosity.

Still though, when she smiled at the end she felt like she won, even if every inch of her skin screamed otherwise; She felt like She Won, brave or dumb she didn't care. Then the Devil arrived, and her smile morphed into something hideous, something to be afraid of.

Maybe, she should have never been Brave.

"It's all right, you're here, everything is fine." That's what her big brother whispered in her ear, as he engulfed her small frame in his warm embrace; back when she got lost once. That's some of the last memories she had left of them, of her family. But it was of no relevance. After all, it wasn't long that she forgot the rest too.

Her charcoal black hair seemed to remind her of the little snippets of her life as if they were a heavily inked record of her. Unlike her eyes, which had somehow lost their vibrant brown and had started to reflect the dried blood on her hands as if they were two bloodied rocks.

Maybe, she should have never been Her.

Though none of that mattered, as she was extremely moody tonight - 'what crawled up your ass tonight' her so-called partner in crime hadn't forgotten to nag her about it - and she had decided to ditch the helmet in respect of her new bike or the one she trashed last night.

Her long black hairs were secured in a messy ponytail and her bike was cutting up the wind like a sword; silent but swift. Her vision blurred for a moment and the long curved-up Steele pillars of the bridge ahead, appeared to be folding in on themselves. It seemed that the blood loss from the bullet still lodged in her thigh, was finally catching up to her, or maybe she was just drunk.

She looked back at the blinking police cars chasing her and saw the dear detective George in the closest car, he was shouting something at her. She shook her head and yelled over her back, "This is really not the right time nor the right place to express your obsessive love to me, My dear George." She was sure that the detective was in love with her, he just won't fucking give up.

Maybe he took that very seriously because the next thing she new, she was hit with a bullet in her skull. The bike skewed on the bridge and with her bike she fell in the cold water; down into the cold abyss of death.

However, as they say, 'Death too must be earned'. One would think that after just blowing up a whole building with some very valuable people in it, - nonetheless the countless lives she took over the last six years - it should have been more than enough of a payment.

Turns out, it's not, since she found herself in a plain white room with a sharp ringing in her head and a blurry haze, still very much alive.

Stunned to find herself in the land of the living, she decided to move her hands but couldn't, she was strapped to the bed like an animal. In her clouded daze, she found some faces hovering over her with surgical masks on. One of them gripped her hand and her head lulled to the side looking down at her hand or rather the IV drips attached to her.

A sudden panic rose in her chest, her breaths were coming in heavy pants, she struggled against the lather strapped to her limbs, all to no avail.

A white cloth was draped over her chest down to her mid-thigh attached with little strings to the one underneath her, giving complete access for the drips to be attached to her like leaches.

There was noise, a lot of it, but with the sharp ringing in her head only intensifying, she couldn't make out any words.

Then the sharp ringing was drowned out by an overwhelming burning sensation, her blood had turned into molten lava, the searing liquid scorching against the confines of her skin and bones, erupting from any outlet it deemed feasible. Her gurgling screams, chocked on her own blood, a sharp contrast against the shrill ringing in her head. Her crimson tears smoldering their way down her skin. Her whole body was burning inside-out, writhing in pain;

Oh God, The Pain.

 

°°°°°

If you're one of those readers who doesn't like the third person POV -like me- don't worry, this is only for the prologue, rest of the chapters will be in first person POV!

Although I'm kinda satisfied -for now- with this one, tell me what do you guys think about it! ;)

Don't forget to Vote, Share and Comment! :D