𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

67. human pâtè.

S I X T Y - S E V E N
human pâtè.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck.

My organs are probably obliterated and mixed up into a sort of human pâtè. All you need is some water crackers and you've got yourself a good meal. I even have extra protein in me from the chicken I ate earlier.

This is the end. I feel it.

My mother will go through my room and find so much shit she doesn't need to see.

I'm too young to die. Too hot to die. I bargained on being sick of my body by the time I died, but at the moment, I'm only sick of my brain; my body is in good order.

As I use my arms to keep myself afloat I realise I didn't get fully shot, looking down at my bicep I see I just got grazed. Enough to bleed, but not enough to bleed out.

There goes the human pâtè I'm sure everyone was starving for.

I look over at the drama, JJ has the machete between his teeth like some OBX Crocodile Dundee, and John B is looking around, waiting to see what's happening. Neither one is looking at me. There are more important things at hand than me getting cut; I'll figure it out later.

John B swims over to the back of the boat that the madmen drove over in, carefully he climbs up the back, slipping onto the boat.

The other man is taunting Neville, wanting him to come out, essentially hand himself over to die. Lazy fucker.

I look back down, the crimson tint around me is still present, I just need no one to notice. We don't need to be distracted if I'm not imminently going to perish.

John B stands up, walking slowly across the boat toward the front, reaching over the seats, he slowly pulls the keys out of the ignition. He almost gets away with it, but at the last second the man sees him from the corner of his eye, turning around he cocks the huge gun. John B manages to grab the length of it, making sure it doesn't get pointed directly at him, they wrestle for it, the man wanting to point it at John B, John B desperately wanting to keep it away from himself.

In one swift motion, John B pushes the butt toward the man's face, hitting him square in the jaw. Using the second of thinking time, John B shoves him off the boat.

I see the set of keys go flying overboard alongside the man.

From inside the boat, I hear gunshots and a loud thud. Let's hope Neville is going okay, he isn't one to go down easy.

Looking off the end I see Neville hit the man to the ground, the gun slides along the hallway, stopping just outside, a few meters away from me. Acting quickly I pull myself up the ladder, ignoring the burning sensation that doubles when I move my arm. I don't even bother standing up, I just crawl over, my fingers graze the cool metal. I can see the Australian man from the corner of my eye. Before I can fully grab it his boot hits my side.

Has he never heard of the phrase don't kick a man when he's down? Or maybe it doesn't apply to women.

I roll over to my back with a grunt, the sudden hit on the floor winds me. Before I can make any attempt to make a move for the gun again he picks it up, cocking and pointing it at me.

I get to my feet as quickly as I can, which isn't as quick as I'd like. I hold my hands out, trying to maintain distance between us.

"Hey, hey. Wait, wait," I rush out.

He laughs and shakes his head, "Sorry, princess. Uh-uh. Down." He tips the front of the gun down for a second. I wish people would stop calling me princess, recently the people who call me that are fucking me over.