stolen from sleep.

5

Warm air mingles with the humidity of a recent rain. The ground is still wet with puddles and my blood drips into each one, leaving a mixture of mud and maroon. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I feel stronger, yet weaker with each ounce of blood I lose.
   
     I continue my steady pace, my limbs knocking against each other with each messy step. I feel myself slowing as I make my way through the edge of a forest, their branches hiding me from view. I hope. My eyes wander and take in my surroundings and I realize I'm . . nowhere. There are no roads or buildings in sight, besides the grey one I just fled from, and the only familiar sight is the sun setting in the deepening blue sky.
   
      I lower myself besides a thick tree, bracing my body against its trunk. In the dimming light I am just able to make out the wounds that mar my skin. Scratches and scrapes that cut through my black leggings ooze blood on my thighs, and my bare feet are splintered and swollen. The skin over my knuckles is pulled back revealing a gory mess of a hand. My arms have splintered glass embedded in them, and I carefully remove each one, fortunate to avoid deep punctures to veins. I remove scraps of my already torn and bloodied leggings and attempt to bandage the worse of the wounds.
   
      I freeze when I hear the purr of an engine not far off. Though its headlights don't shine I can still make out the black truck that is slowly crawling through the field, just outside the tree line. It speeds and slows as if teasing me and I carefully crawl deeper into the eerie forest. My hand sinks deep into a muddied hole in the ground, its contents burning my exposed wounds, and I yelp.
   
      The truck stops, the engine cuts out, and the driver door opens. He steps out. He clicks his tongue as if calling a cat, the sickening smile on his face displaying his enjoyment. As he walks, his footsteps are deathly quiet and when he stalks into the tree line, disappearing from view, I panic. My heart drops and my stomach rises, a horde of butterflies and their fluttering swings overwhelming my senses.
   
      With a shaking hand I scoop up a handful of mud and smear it over my face, forehead to chin, hoping to camouflage my pale face from the now shining moon. The cuts on my face stings in response and I know they will probably become infected, but that really doesn't matter if I'm dead.
   
      A snap of a twig close, too close, stills me. I press my body against a tree and attempt to steady my breathing. In and out. Inhale, exhale. His footsteps are closing in, I bite the bullet, and run.
   
      My legs pump against the ground, but he is faster than a wounded girl. Each time he is close enough for me to hear him breathing, he falls behind, letting my depleted energy continue to fall. I need a miracle, and when I trip over a rock, I know that it won't come.
   
     I try to rise from the ground, but he is on top of me, pushing me back down. He lowers his body over mine, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, "Chloe, you didn't think our fun was over now, did you?"
   
     He grabs me by one ankle as he stands, his large figure looming over me. I thrash as he drags me through the dirt, but none of my attempts loosen his grip, so I stop. The scraps of fabric covering my wounds loosen and fall away as they catch on sticks that litter the ground. We are close to the truck when my hand wanders over a hard object, I snatch it up. It's a good sized rock with a sharp edge.
   
     With all the strength I can muster I bend my torso, sitting up, and swing the jagged rock at the wrist that is latched onto my ankle.
   
     He releases me, letting out a low growl, and I stand to run - I don't get very far.
   
     He tackles me to the ground, crushing my rib cage, and throws me over his shoulder. I don't fight, I've lost.
   
     We approach the truck and he opens the door then tosses me in easily. He doesn't bother to tie me up, he probably figures I'm too weak to run again. He's right. As he slams the door shut, I look out the window at the twinkling stars and the thin slice of a moon. Another day has passed and still no one has found me.
   
     He returns to the driver seat, but before he turns the keys to start the truck, he tosses a metal water bottle in my lap.
   
     "You must be thirsty, Chloe. Drink."
   
     I raise the water to my cracked lips and take a small sip. The fluid has an off aftertaste, but I could care less if it was drugged, I gulp it down hastily. Instead of lessening the parched feeling in my throat, it intensifies it. My eyes search the interior of the vehicle for more water, but I'm spinning. I plant my arms against my seat in attempt to steady myself, but I'm not really spiraling out of control, my eyes are just playing tricks on me. My eyes start to close despite my protests and my vision fades. As I begin to lose consciousness, I hear a voice whisper: "sweet dreams, Chloe."

    A strange hummed melody begins before I pass out.