The Ditches

Chapter One

Footsteps echoed around the bare room and grew louder as they drew closer. Ear to the floor I couldn't help but hear them. I couldn't help but feel their vibrations tingling through my body. They were coming for me, oh, I knew that.

Chained, stripped naked, and branded with blades, I was just tinder for the entra's flames. Dried blood flaked from my nose, it flaked from all over my body and tinged the floor blue. I adjusted my position, trying desperately to find relief from the pain, but instead I just felt a thousand wounds gape open.

My heart froze as the footsteps paused and the door creaked open. And, as the footsteps resumed, my heart did too, beating faster and faster. Yeah, I was scared but I also knew that no matter what, today, it ended.

The tip of his boot kicked into my chest, and I rolled onto my back with a pitiful groan. He knelt over me, smiling. He did this every morning. Arrogant bastard. Every day, his face would hover over mine. Every day after breakfast, I could smell the food on his breath. It made my stomach tighten.

"Morning Ramet," he said, oh, he sounded so happy too. "You good?" He laughed.

My head lunged forward, I swear, I was fast as lightening. My skull cracked against his mouth, and he staggered back, clanging against the metal wall.

"You stupid bitch!" he screamed and his blue blood splattered on the stained floor.

I rose fully and the chains fell from my wrists. Every step hurt, but I'd put up with anything for freedom.

"How'd you get loose?" he shouted. Yeah, he wasn't feeling quite so brave anymore.

My fist smacked into his nose. The bone cracked with a sickening crunch. He screamed; it was like music to my ears ...

The music pauses and I take a long gulp of my drink. It fizzes against my throat, warming me from the inside out. I'm a little too sober for my liking. Too sober for this story. Once more, a corruptive beat jumps from the speakers. Music disguises the conversation rising from the booths around mine, lined against the side wall of this fine, back-alley establishment.

Hara leans forward, it's a nice view from where I'm sitting. A figure-hugging blue dress leaves very little to the imagination. Her every move is intentional. Her every smile, her every glance, a curated persona for her client's pleasure. But I have no intention of being one of her customers.

"And?" Hara says with a seductive smile.

I smile back. "And what?" I lean back against my seat. My gaze spans the dimmed room. There's a dancefloor to my left, drunk and drugged people sway to the beat. I could be dancing. I could be making my move on someone free instead of talking to the prostitute. But in my defence, she cornered me. "You asked how I got my scars, I told you."

She edges closer around the booth, taking care not to sit on an exposed patch of discoloured foam. Our knees touch. Oh, I feel something, I'm not going to deny that. I may be dead inside, but sometimes— I sigh deeply as her hand presses against my knee —sometimes I can be resurrected.

I roll my sleeves up and take care not to allow my arms to touch the tacky table. Is it just me or is it getting excessively hot in here?

"Okay," Hara says, with a flicker of long blonde eyelashes. "So, now I'm asking what happened next?" And she bites her lip.

I laugh a little. "I wrapped the chain around his neck, and I watched as he slowly choked to death."

Okay, I mostly lied, that wasn't how my torture went down. I didn't kill him, and he never provoked me. In fact, my torturer was a nice guy. He was respectful. He asked if I was ready. He even apologised. But I'm not about to tell someone who looks like Hara that I spent my time weeping in my head and praying my ex, Cantral, would still find me attractive. I'm not going to tell Hara that on my last day of being tortured my wounds were bandaged and I shook hands with my torturer, and we wished each other well.