Satellites

Chapter 6

Time always seems to move in slow motion when something terrible is happening. The ground seems to be arriving at a slug pace until I am inches from it. I stifle my scream as my face crashes into the ground, the boy's limp body facing no lesser damage. Rocks bite through the skin with ease, and I close my eyes, tight. Maybe, if I wished with all my might, this nightmare would go away. Maybe, just maybe, if I count to three, I will be at home in peace. 1...2...
3.

Ha. At least I tried.

Instead of my eyes opening to the sight of my ramshackle little home, I see a face. Old, but stern. Kind looking eyes, but arched eyebrows, which show a dark contradiction of a man of love and a man of hate. My lungs burn, winded from the impact of the ground while also struggling to breathe in the air. I knew I didn't have long.

"Well hello there," he says, and I recognize it as the voice that was speaking to the boy. It is soft and menacing, but it also almost had a kind quality to it; it is not unlike his facial features. "Are you alright?"

"Um..." I look up at him, and everything that had just happened crashed down upon me, like a boulder. I am squished, and I don't know how to get out. I decide the best thing to do is to stop speaking, save all my breath for later.

He smiles, and for a minute, something flashes on his tooth. I frown, but his lips block all hopes of a second glance.

"Here, let me help you up, dear."

He stretches out his hand. In my delirium, I almost consider taking it. But then I realize: He is the reason why I'm on the floor. I scoot back from his hand, my head spinning.

I try to focus on breathing while he talks.

"Oh, that's not polite." He grins this time, apparently unwilling to give me another glance at his teeth. In. Out.
"Oh well. You must call me Monsieur, then, at least. Okay?"

I don't have the chance to answer, because he scoops me up. Yelping, I pinch his arms, but they are bony and muscular, and I know it did nothing to wound him. I grit my teeth together in determination as he begins to walk briskly, the wind blowing around us hard as if battling the kidnap. I open my mouth and dig my teeth into his hand, gagging as the taste of soot fills my mouth.He winces as blood starts to drip, but he merely shoves my face away and even, oh the nerve of him, flutters his eyebrows at me.

"Thanks dear," he purrs, "The scar will make me look splendid."

I spit on him, the bitter taste of dirt churring unpleasant thoughts in my mind.

My chest tightens in fearful anxiety as he holds me even closer, and I almost forget about my light headedness when all of a sudden, he halts. My hair flutters down to reframe my face, and my stomach lurches in queasiness. He doesn't give me time to adjust to my new surroundings. Almost immediately, he tosses me onto the floor. I scream, and all the wind is knocked out of me as my chest thuds to the ground, my hands numb and useless.

Everything hurt. My face, my lungs, my throat. I cough vigorously. This was the end. I could see it. Blind spots dot my vision, and I turn around to see the man who had just dropped me smile.

"Now," he says pleasantly, "if you be a good girl, we might just let you see them."

Them? I think in confusion. Who's them? What-

But of course, my thoughts are interrupted as he pulls something out of his pocket. It glints in the musty light of the world, but I never get a chance to see it because just then, a pole crashes ecstatically across his face. The old man's smile never fades as he slumps to the ground, his eyeballs rolling into the back of his head. The thing in his pocket had disappeared back. I can barely breathe anymore. I close my eyes before I get to see my saviour.