Marcus breathed hard. Concrete crushed his abdomen. There was blood on his hands and head. The duffel bag hid under a bench beyond the crumbled building. He tried to speak, but his breath was almost spent. The acidic rain pelted down. It ran through the concrete. It ran through his wounds. The stone tore his flesh; the lightning tore the clouds. Smoke, dust, ash, rain. The bag must get to Ben. It was important. Forgot why. It shouldn't be getting wet. He risked his life for it and he would probably die here for it.
Marcus stretched his hand out into the rain. His body hurt. Death was coming. Would Ben get there before, or not at all? Unconsciousness was already upon him. His eyes closed. His breath slowed. Hope drowned.
A light shone beyond the bag. It was an artificial, friendly light. He tried to move or scream. The light came closer.
Hello?
I'm here!
Are you hurt?
Badly.
Don't worry; I'll get you out.
The bag...
Got it.
YOU ARE READING
To The World, I Say This...
AcakTo The World, I Give This: A range of my smaller works, including scripts, essays, opinions, and short stories. To The World, I Render This: A beautiful and (hopefully) graceful example of spontaneity and genius. I also render (to anyone who has th...
