The Necklace

Prologue

The bone-chilling wind howls at my skin, crawling across every fiber of my being until complete and blatant abduction. He pulls at my hand, dragging me to inevitable oblivion. I struggle to loosen his grip, but to no avail. His grip tightens abruptly, painfully so, extracting a curt, high frequency shriek from my vocal chords. As his grip tightens, his nails stagger across my wrist, quickly yet slowly. I feel a warm substance secrete from my wrist, trickling down my arm. Though excruciating, I find comfort in this warm through the dark of night.

After what felt like hours of walking, we stopped at what appears to be a rundown asylum. I caught a glimpse of the sign out of my peripheral vision:

"The Harold Jenn Memorial Mental Health

and Reformation Facility"

I garbled a pleading sentence before he slapped me and gave me a vicious reprimand. He pulled off the bandana with such a force that it felt as if a thousand needles pricked my back simultaneously. I felt his fist encompass my hair and pull vertically, quite swiftly. I heard each follicle tear out of my skull individually, vigorously, allowing blood to run down my face and neck.

With my hair still in his hold, he maneuvered me to the brick wall of the building. Serially thrashing me against the wall, I felt the concrete of the brick scrape against my head, tearing my flesh. My skeletal encompassment around my cranium was quickly being fractured and shattered, leaving my brain totally vulnerable; an irreversible affliction, indeed.

Consequently losing consciousness to growing anemia, I struggle to speak with my broken jaw and strained vocal chords. I cough up blood, feeling my energy immediately depleting. I try to masticate the soon-appearing plasma and blood cells and swallow the many cells, subsequent vomit and hydrochloric acid away. Rejected by my delicate gag reflex, it all came rushing out over his shoes. In retaliation, I received a punch to the jaw blade.

"Please..." I whispered between bloody coughs, "stop..."

"Oh, look at you," he says, "thinking you can speak to me as if we are equal."

"What..." I cough, "do you mean...?"

I hear a clicking sound arise from his pants pocket. I catch a glistening of a switchblade in his free hand. I suddenly see my regrets of life in his blade.

"You know what it means. You are nothing. Nothing in the hierarchy of University. And you need not repeat details of this night to anyone. Got it?"

I struggle to release vocal vibrations. Nothing comes out but more blood and acid.

"Good," he says, sliding his knife against my temple and kicking my throat with the hilt.

"F-f-f," I stuttered, "f-fuck... Y-you... Douche..."

"Heh," he remarked, clearly proud of himself. "You just did..." He looked down, frowning at himself, obviously remorseful about what happened simply hours ago. He cleared his throat and slapped on a strong-willed façade. "Now," he said, sadly, "get out of my sight..." He disappeared into the night. I only hoped a sentinel may come rescue me as the snowflakes descended to my body, my last sight of snow...