🔪Doll🔪

Chapter 1

(Amara's POV)

It's dark out...so dark and cold. My body hurts. I can barely move, but I know I have to. He will be back soon and he will find me.

And I know that if he finds me, he'll finish the job this time and kill me. 

I won't fight anymore...I can't.

I feel like I'm dying. If it weren't for the grace of God, I'd already be dead.

My clothes are so soaked with my blood that they're clinging to my body as if I had jumped in my favorite swimming hole back home with them still on.

So I've got to go...push myself just a little further. I owe God that much; Mems too. I know they've both been with me; there's no way I would've ever survived this long otherwise.

As I lie for a moment staring blankly up at the starry sky, trying to recover from the shock of my tumble down the steep porch stairs, my senses begin to return to me somewhat.

I hear the sounds of dogs barking in the distance, someone letting out a single shrill whistle, faint voices and sirens mingled with rap music that sounds closer than anything else. It all frightens me even more than I already am which gives me the motivation to move.

Unable to walk, I slowly roll over onto my stomach, trying not to cry out in pain and draw any unwanted attention to myself.   

It's amazing that this is how we start out in life...crawling. But trying to crawl when you're severely injured as your only means of escaping certain death is a little different; especially on these uneven, litter and pebble strewn sidewalks. 

While most people find this kind of neglect in a neighborhood unappealing, I'm thankful for the tall weeds that line both sides of the sidewalk because they seem to be providing some cover for me at least, as I slowly shuffle along. 

I haven't been outside for almost two years and I always imagined that if I ever made it outside again that it would be such a joyous occasion; fresh air would fill my lungs, the sun would warm my cheeks once again, and the sounds of birds singing would fill my ears...but that's definitely not what's happening. There's no time to think about any of that right now though. 

Even though I'm not from around here and have been through this neighborhood only once before, which was when I was being brought to my prison cell in this hellhole, I know that he may not be my only problem, if I don't find some help real soon.

Please God, guide me, help me...save me.

I drag myself along the sidewalk a little further. I get to where I can't feel the rocks digging into my arms anymore.

I'm not sure how long it's been or how far I've went. Most of the time I've spent crawling is a complete blur to me except for the agony that I feel – it's the only thing that's keeping me going believe it or not.

Then, out of nowhere it seems, I look up and see a payphone just a few feet ahead of me. It was as if God had brought it there and placed it right in front of me. I want to smile, but I can't – I'm in too much pain, and for a split second, I am hoping that my eyes aren't playing tricks on me like those mirage things in the desert. My eyes are so bleary that I don't know if I can trust them.

But I can't lose hope now...I'm too close.

I move along the sidewalk as fast as I can, dragging my body along with my forearms even though I'm getting extremely dizzy. The closer I get, I notice the graffiti and swear words that are painted all over the phone booth, along with the light being busted and glass everywhere. It's a welcome sight none-the-less...signs of life. I just hope that the phone isn't broken too.

Please God, let this thing work. 

I've never even said a swear word before, yet this profanity and sin covered thing just might save my life.

I don't have any money, but I had heard once that you can call for help on these things for free. I sure hope so.

I try to take a deep breath, but it hurts too much. I'm getting so lightheaded...I know I don't have much longer. I grip onto the metal frame of the booth, pulling myself upward with what little bit of strength I have left. In all honesty, it's more determination than strength at this point.

As soon as I am standing up on my leg that is injured less than the other one, I hobble a few steps to the phone.

It's getting harder to breathe, and then all of the sudden I vomit which makes the pain in my body soar. Hot tears run down my cold cheeks as I begin to shake, feeling as if I'm gonna fall. I grip onto the receiver of the phone, holding on to it like a lifeline before I pull it off its cradle.

I look at the numbers, but everything is blurry. "God, please..." I whisper. I can't do this without him.

After my plea, I manage to dial the number with my shaky hand. Thank you, God!       

It rings twice before I hear a woman's loud voice say, "9-1-1, what is your emergency?" But everything starts spinning before I can answer her.

I fall back with a loud thud and slide down the wall of the booth; the pain is so bad now that I know I'm dying.

Somehow, I still have a death grip on the receiver, even though it no longer reaches to my ear or mouth. I try to yell, but I can barely speak.

"H-help...please," I beg, just barely above a whisper.

"Hello? 9-1-1, what is your location?" the lady asks, obviously not hearing me. "Do you need fire, ambulance, or police?"

"Please!" I say a little more forcefully, though my voice cracks.

"Ma'am, how can I help you?"

"Help..." I manage to yelp out again.

"Ma'am, please stay on the line and where you are; I'm sending help," she says in a kind, soothing tone.

"T-th-thank you," I barely stutter out, not sure if she can hear me, but I'm so grateful to hear what she said.

"Ma'am, I need you to stay on the line with me, if you can, alright?"

But I can't answer anymore. My grip starts loosening on the phone until finally my hand falls to my lap leaving the receiver swinging back and forth on its cord, hitting into the glass wall a few times. 

"Ma'am, are you there? Ma'am?" I hear her ask urgently as I am starting to fade away.

Oddly, one of the last things I think about is a plaque that Mems had hanging in our living room, for as long as I could remember. It was a square piece of shellacked wood that had a poem called "Footprints in the Sand" glued on it with a picture of a beach and one set of footprints in the sand. It had always made me feel sad because that single set of footprints seemed as lonely as I always felt. I had read it so many times as a kid when I would be in there on punishment, facing the wall. I would look at the lone set of footprints in the picture, never quite understanding what it meant...until now.

A/N : Please don't be a silent reader! Let me hear you - leave a comment and vote! ;)

*Mems is what Amara calls her grandmother who had raised her before passing away. She's southern, so it's her word for both momma and memaw. 😉