When All Light Dies

Strife

"This burden tortures me deep in my soul. I thought the strife would make the bleeding stop." — Trivium

***

My captor threw me down the stairs.

I don't land at the bottom, and I only roll down a few steps, but still. I can't move as I lay sprawled unnaturally along the staircase, numb and in shock. I'm afraid to try to stand up, due to the tingling feeling overwhelming me. If anything is broken, I don't want to hurt myself further. If my aching head suffered a concussion, I don't want to move too quickly.

But the sound of my abductor's footsteps nearing urges me to get away. At the moment, I don't know where I'll go, but I have to get somewhere. I can't be near a man who would taunt me with death by holding me over the railing of a staircase, and then throw me down the flight in anger. The fact that this same man has kidnapped me and trapped me in his basement reeks evil, but this just reestablishes his terrible nature. Something very bad is wrong with him.

I try to sit up, but the pain is too much. I try forcing my body to roll over again so I'll crash down the rest of the steps, but I don't have the strength as my senses are still beginning to function again, shocked. The pain is slowly but surely spreading through my body as I grimace and remain still, trapped in a body possessed by growing pain.

I then feel hands on my tender, bruised shoulders that knocked against every stair on the way down. One hand then snakes under my awkwardly angled legs, and tucks beneath my knees. I feel myself being lifted again, and I cringe. My body is protesting each movement as I cry out in pain, the hands holding me hurting, and forcing my sore, excruciating limbs to move before they're ready.

I'm pulled against a chest, a warm, hard chest, and I'm no longer a spiraled body against the stairs. I'm being carried. Each step jars my body, leaving me gasping and wincing. I attempt to thrash about in protest to being held since it hurts, but I'm too weak to make much movement at all.

"Please," I manage to gasp, voice pained and frightened and quiet.

The arms don't release me, and panic sets in. My cries desperately grow louder and the pain suddenly fades, because I no longer care about that in this moment. I care about being free from the literal hold of my captor, since being in his burning arms hurts worse than any fall I could endure. Simple aftershocks from that fall can't compare to this hurt caused by this terror of close intimacy with a man I loathe.

"Let me go," I continue to sob, attempting to throw my body from being pressed against his, but to no use. His grip around me remains stubbornly firm and restricting, amounting my efforts to a tragic nothing.

"Please," I repeat, the plea seeming to bounce off the bare, trapping walls horrifically. The only person who can possibly hear me refuses to acknowledge my words, and this realization provokes the strangest sense of helplessness I've yet to notice.

The arms are suddenly, thankfully, lowering me. I'm released from being held against such an evil entity, as my back is softly placed upon the familiar feel of the scratchy mattress. The pain from the fall attacks me again as I wince and wait for it to pass, though it refuses to wane.

I shiver while my eyes squeeze shut as a finger brushes my cheek, skimming the surface gently. It's a fleeting, light touch, delicate. The complete opposite of the angry manner the same hand handled me just moments ago. Now, its touch is somehow concerned, almost comforting if I didn't know better.

"Please," the man whispers dryly, as if experiencing a pain of his own, strained. "Don't act like that again."

The quietness of his deep voice is alarming, in a way more threatening than a scream. It's full of emotion, which in ways can be better than an empty vessel of a man, but is also frightening. Frightening, because the emotions he's feeling are unreadable. Spontaneity and unpredictability are difficult to handle, because I have no idea how to expect anything.