Titan's Heart

Chapter 7: A Taste of Freedom

Chill.  I only stabbed him in the leg.  No matter how much I wanted to, and how mad I was, I could never stab my brother fit to kill.  I'm not as heartless as him.  

So once he fell down in pain, I ran for it.  Like, I mean faster than Usain Bolt.  I thought I was going to make it.  I was so close to just getting through those doors and freeing myself of this place.  Only, one of the ninja fellows was nearly that fast, and barely scraped my back with their glowing green machete-like swords.  Instantly, the pain was unbearable.  I fell down, seeing red, and just screaming my lungs off.  Hot tears continuously flowed down my cheeks and chin, and I was sweating like a pig.  My usually soft and fine medium brown hair was plastered to my face and neck by the time Dean hobbled over to where I was.  One of the ninjas must have stopped to treat him, because he wasn't looking too shabby.  He looked over me, seeing my distraught appearence and the blood streaming from the long, vertical wond on my back.

I met his eyes, and he must have seen the pain in mine.  I was heartbroken.  I was writhing in just the worst thing my body has ever endured.  It was worse than my period.  And he just looked at me and said, "You know, those swords work a lot better than your dinky little dagger.  I did say please by the way."  I literally choked.  I didn't know who this person was.  I had no idea where my big brother was, but my best guess was he was dead.  And replaced by this numb-minded creature.  I was still trying to stop gagging in digust and horror and sobs when he turned to say something to the herd of ninjas.  I finally stopped choking, tried (and failed) to sit up, and composed myself.

"I don't believe I have ever seen a more disgusting thing done to another with whom you had a relationship with in the history of my experience.  And, you know, I am 115 years old.  And we don't seem to be acquainted.  I am Kay Chamlin, and you are?" I asked, with a harsh mix of reality, sarcasm, disgust and rage woven into every syllable.

He whipped back around.  Any smirk or sign of a leg up on me had dissapated.  That must have hit him hard.  Mission Accomplished, I thought.  The realization of what he had done dawned on him.  There was no taking that back.  Not ever.  He knew he would never be able to appoligize or salvage what he had done.  This was something you could never do.  Turning your back on family, or hurting them is right up there with capital murder in my book.  And he knew it.  As tears welled up in this stranger's eyes, he turned and steeled his heart.  

I don't even know what he told them, but I do know that one of them came over to me, cautiously, with a vial of liquid the same radioactive green as their swords.  He forced it into my mouth.  About half of it I spit out.  It tasted like plain cough syrup, one of the flavors in the world that I hate with a passion.  The other half slowly sank down into my throat, and the world started spinning.  What is up with these people and knocking me out, I asked myself, am I really that unbearable?  All I remember hearing after that is the glass door being thrown open, and a man walked in yelling at Dean.  The man turned towards me, and the last thought that I had before the everything went black was:

Thank goodness for Joziah, that son of a gun.