Gypsy

Prologue

       I’m dancing. I love to dance; it’s why they call me gypsy you know? I love to dance. I’ve had a couple drinks now, getting a bit tipsy. I wander out to the pier. Twirling, and spinning, arms outstretched like an airplane. Everything’s a blur now, a mix of alcohol and the joy of dancing, feeling the cold air against my skin; so much better than the hot, sweaty death trap inside the club. God, it stank in there. No matter how happy I am though, outside on the pier, I can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something. What was it I left behind? Ugg, my mind is so fogged up I can’t summon up one logical thought. I bring my arms down and slowly spin a full 360 degrees, taking in the air, the view of the sea, the star filled sky; it’s so beautiful.

      I’m almost all the way round’ when I feel a pair of warm hands closing in over my neck; I may have caught sight of the face, but my memories so little, all I remember is a blur. The hands are calloused, definitely calloused; most likely male. I reach up and grip at the hands, trying to pry them free from my airway; nothing happens. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing escapes. Noticing my struggle, the man tightens his hands around my airway. I kick and claw at him, but weakly. My eyes fog up, and any air left in my system is gone. I open and close my mouth frantically, trying to gather some air, anything. I begin to get light headed, dizzy. I know I should do something, but what? I can’t think properly, I’m dizzy and drunk, and I don’t compare to his strength. I collapse; landing in a hard thump on the weathered wood. I struggle to get up, struggle to breath, but cant. I can still hear clearly, smell, but can’t see now. Its complete blackness. They say hearings the last thing to go; apparently that’s true.

“She’s down. Should I just leave her here, or should I hide her somewhere?”

“I don’t know man, leave her. Take what you can and let’s ditch her.”

“Alright.”

A curse and the pounding of footsteps.

“Ha-ha, hey, she was so drunk she passed out! Ha!”

        It was too girls; not sure who, most likely drunk themselves. I try to open my mouth, tell them about the two men who had strangled me. Tell them that I’m dying. But I can’t. Nothing works. It’s like all connections to my brain have been cut, and I’m just lying there; a dead heap of a woman whom people thought had simply passed out because she was drunk. Finally, even my hearing cut off, and I was left for dead; if I wasn’t already there. My name was Monique Frappier; and what did I forget? Well, I still can’t remember.