Waking Up Dead

"Help! Help!" I attempt to scream for the fifth time in three minutes. It's dark and cold and a little musty. I know someone is here, with me, but I don't know where he or she is. I try to reach to the figure, but they slap my hand away. "Help." I whisper, my voice inaudible.

"Help comes if you remain silent." A gruff voice tells me. Okay, it is a man. The man looks at me, no sympathy in his eyes. He steps closer. I begin to scream again. "Silence!" He barks, the sound echoing in the cold room.

I twist in the chair that I am tied to, trying to see where I am. Suddenly, the man has a gun. He uses the butt of it to slap my face, hard. The pain is worse than anything I have ever felt. I scream out in pain, anger, and confusion. The man slams the butt against my cheek again.

"Help me," I whisper to no one. Even though my voice was no more audible that a mouse sneezing, the man heard me. I find the butt of the gun in my face again. I do not dare to scream, or even wince, for fear of the gun hitting me again.

Despite my best efforts, I find tears pooling in my eyes. No. I can't cry, not here, not now. Though I try my best, the tears continue to pool until my eyes finally give out, and I find myself crying. And, as I expected, the butt finds the newly swollen area on my face.

When the man gets tired if hitting me, I find a shiny blade staring at me. The scream I have been holding back wins and escapes, filling the whole room with the sharp sound. That does it. The man brings the blade down with such force, I barely even notice it protruding from my chest. When I do notice it, it's when I feel a cold, sticky, substance pouring down my chest. I scream again.

My swollen face accepts the butt of the gun like it's family. I don't notice the pain because the pain in my chest is worse. I try to scream, but only blood escapes from my lips, drenching the man in a thick, gooey, red. The man jumps back in disgust and hits me again.

I feel the blood rush down my shirt, becoming more and more sticky by the second. After almost a minute, I can't feel a thing. Then, I can't feel anything. A couple more seconds and I can't taste the sharp metallic taste of the blood in my mouth and on my lips. Soon, I see a bright light, then sight is gone with the rest of my senses.

Right before my hearing goes away, too, I hear the gruff voice negotiating with someone, probably over the phone.

" Yes, I have her, you imbecile." Muffled noises follow, then, "She's here! I swear!"

More muffled sounds protrude from the phone again. "She's not dead, but she's close." Then the man hangs up, I only know by the click it makes. The man walks over to me, known to me by his echoing footsteps.

"Goodbye, Tasha." He says while placing the gun against my temple. When I thrash about, he clicks the bullet in place. Then, when I start to scream, he fires and I can't sense anything.