stillborn | e.j

b e a c h

Was it the sound of water crashing against the shore that woke Jack?

Or was it the quickly approaching footsteps?

The sirens coming closer and closer?

The pain in his arm?

He didn't care. All he knew was he was here on a beach, wrists and ankles bound with zip ties, unable to escape the fast approaching police.

He thrashed about, not remembering exactly how he'd gotten here. All he knew at the moment was that he needed to get the fuck out of there.

He kept thrashing as the footsteps got closer. A child's voice filled his ears. "Hold still mister." Then came the sound of something gnawing at his bindings, and they fell off, leaving his wrists free.

"I have to go now mister. You should run." He felt around for something to release his ankles, but found nothing.

So he crawled away, no doubt leaving a large trail in the sand for them to follow. But crawling was all he could do.

The shouts of a man disclosed to the police that he was crawling along the beach.

He'd have to get these bindings off his ankles and arm himself with whatever he could find.

There might be no escaping this alive, but at least he could take down a few police officers with him.

Something snagged on his hoodie as he crawled, and he felt a strong resistance as he attempted to pull away. He reached out and touched it, feeling a sharp rock.

This was his chance. He pulled his hoodie off of it and began scraping the zip ties on his ankles against the rock. He heard one snap, but there were still three more.

Heavy footsteps were coming close, and Jack still had a few zip ties left.

Another one snapped. Two more.

Just as the next tie snapped, he was grabbed roughly from behind by his hood.

He kept scraping the tie on the rock. This was the last one.

The person holding his hood started pulling, trying to stop Jack from undoing the last tie.

But Jack wouldn't go down without a fight. He reached for the persons arm, yanking them forward and biting his hand as hard as he could.

Sharp teeth sank deep into the flesh, and when he pulled away, blood began dripping heavily from the wound.

The last tie snapped, and he started running away from the sound of police approaching on foot and by car.

He didn't know how he fucked up this badly.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hoped to find his scalpel, but it must've fallen out or been taken away because they were empty, save for a few zip ties.

They weren't the best, but he could try taking hostages. He stumbled and fell, pain pulsing in his left leg.

Footsteps were getting closer now, and he couldn't seem to get up.

What was wrong with his leg? He touched his hands to it and they came back covered in a warm, wet substance.

Blood.