The Taken

25

Clarence took his shoe and threw it as hard as he could at a bloated mother dragging her feet to Veronica.

"Hey, over here!" He yelled while waving his arms and chucking his other shoe that hit the mother square in the back of her head.

Veronica yanked her knife out of the man's eye socket, spewing black blood like a geyser all over her.

She struggled under his weight and squirmed like a worm. Finally she was able to get him off her side, the rest of his body fell with a thump.

Veronica staggered to the ground taking a quick breath before being pummeled by an even bigger and more enraged mother.

Veronica, cussing the woman out, repeatedly stabbed her in the collarbone region. The mother slapped Veronica and tried her best to claw at her while Clarence's shouts came nearer.

Clarence jumped on the mother's back like a spider monkey, digging his nails deep within her face and screaming like a banshee.

The mother roared like a lion and rose her form up dropping Clarence on his back, slightly winding him. Veronica took her knife and sank it into the mother's thigh all while trying to wriggle her way out from under the woman.

Bartholomew

The digging of sharp, piercing daggers that was hunger spread itself throughout Barry's aching, shaking, and weak little body. He was nauseated and high in the clouds. Dizzy. Spacey. Nearly forgetting to breathe or blink.

He closed his eyes as a girl screamed for what seemed like dear life, trying to relinquish the seemingly unending tiredness that stained his brain.

"What the hell am I doing?" He whispered to himself, sighing in all the confusion he could muster. He debated about just staying on his own and to not deal with the drama of his peers, especially in this place.

Both of their screaming didn't help in their favor of him coming to their aid, but Barry (being Barry) decided they needed it and probably deserved life rather than the latter.

His every step filled him with an unexplainable feeling making him want to turn around even more.

It's not worth it, the little voice in his head said.

Don't be selfish, Barry.

He cleared his throat with a cough and rubbed his eyes, his jaws opening in a long and much-needed yawn.

The terrible feat of walking was forced upon Barry. Holding his own against the monsters that lurked in the dark was a small atom of possibility.

He mentally 'ughed' and went about down the mile-long asphalt path, leading the way to his hopefully new companions.

He heard the tiny chirps of crickets and the roars of the children and an adult they seemed to be fighting. He gripped his knife in his hand and started at a slow jog now.

What am I going to say to them? He thought to himself.

Unfortunately no one could answer that. He'd just need to introduce himself and hope they didn't think of him as a threat.

He stopped at the end of his street that joined to a longer and more wider one that connected to the park's left side. They were just in front of him and a little more North, screeching and fighting like gorillas.

His head kept reminding him of the stabbing feeling of hunger, it never stopped. His brain throbbed and pulsated a splitting migraine. The pain was like maggots eating slowly away at it, or an acid that painstakingly took its time to savor the pink within his skull.