If Marilyn Manson had 3 Days to live. . .

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  • Dedicated to To great painters everywhere
                                    

Chi-chick. The gun cocked. The kidnapper touched the barrel of his cold pistol to my temple; my head craning slightly. He thrust a phone against my ear.

"Read the script."

 I was between a rock and a hard place. Worse, I was endangering both me and my love. Brian was on the end of the line, is breath rattling like a bee-bee in a canteen; he was as terrified as I was; he needed to know I was stil alive.

"Brian. . . I'm here." I whispered, my cold breath sticking to the mouthpiece in droplets.

"Read it, bitch!" He said, poking my head.

I recalled just then the movie TAKEN with liam neeson. His character told his daughter, as she was being kidnapped, to shout out all that she saw of her attackers so he could find her somehow. Would that really work? I decided to give it a shot.

"Hurry." His pal said, pushing the script under my nose.

I wailed my heart out to Brian, my eyes fleeting all they could of my kidnappers, "TALL, MUSCULAR, SCOTTISH, BLACK LEATHER, WAREHOUSE, CORNER OF- Help, Brian, HELP!" They snapped the phone coled, cutting me off from my love.

"I warned you, bitch!"

He back-handed me, I fell flatly to the icy floor of the warehouse, unable to break my fall because of the handcuffs. He and his ugly counterparts kicked my center, and punched my lights out. I swooned, unable to feel much else. "Guess we godda cut that pretty mouth of yers after all." he remarked.

 He grasped all of my brown hair in one big fist and flipped open a pocket knife in the other. He brought it to my lips and parted my teeth.

I only saw blood leak on the floor before I blanked out. My mind going into shock and remembering happier days. . .

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