The Monsters Inside (Formerly Extract)

Escape

She was strong. That couldn’t be denied. Violet was a killer if you opened up her basic instincts and stripped her of everyday society’s perfection. Very slowly, her body got stronger than before –not as strong as it could have been, but with little nutrition she could only do so much.

Her health, however, was another story. The bread portions were getting smaller and smaller. Violet would argue that I eat more, seeing as I was bigger and had already “fallen ill”. But as her skin turned grey and her eyes faded to nothing-but-pupil, I realized that if she didn’t get out of here soon, she would die.

It wasn’t as easy to plan an escape as the movies and books portrayed. We had next to no idea where we were, and very little knowledge of what our prison looked like. Vaguely I remembered the set of narrow hallways they carried me through, but I didn’t recall seeing an exit, so there must have been more passageways throughout the place. Violet couldn’t recall anything outside the storage room. “Except,” She wrote, having lost the ability to use her voice long ago, and tracing the words in blood, “The room outside ours always has two men guarding us. They never leave, except to switch.” My ears perked, and my brain hatched a plan. The spark of genius had me tripping over my tongue. “T-they switch when they g-give us f-food. When th-they unl-lock the door for our food, w-we’ll run out.” I took her hands, forcing all her attention onto what I was saying, being sure that she heard every last word. “They w-won’t expect it. Both doors –to here and the other room- will b-be open and unlock-cked. W-we can g-get out.”

I’ll never forget the hope in her eyes when I stuttered those words.

We waited. Like silent creatures awaiting their prey, we sat huddled next to the door. Our eyes were locked on the slit between the door and the frame, straining our ears to hear the sound of freedom –the click of the lock. A rustle of keys sounded, and John’s hand tightened inside mine. The door slowly creaked open. Now! I heard John’s voice in my head as clear as if he was speaking to me. He forced the door open further, and pushed us past the blonde, flabbergasted man. And we ran.

John had been right. The door to the hallway was n also open and unlocked. However, the men were coming through. An animalistic growl erupted from John and he pushed us past them. The hall, I could see it; feel the plush carpet underneath my feet. We were fre- No! Someone jerked me back, and my hand slipped from John’s grip. No! Violet, fight! His voice commanded me inside my head, and I fought back with a vengeance. My legs kicked, my body trashed, and an inhuman screech bellowed from within. It burned my throat on the way out, and for a moment –one precious moment- the man’s grip loosened. But just as I went to escape, to run, I saw John collapse. It was silent, all I could hear was a ringing in my ears, but I saw the gun protruding from another man’s fist. John had been shot. John had been shot. John had been... shot!

Vaguely, I can recall dropping to my knees and sobbing. I can almost recall the men roughly forcing me and a limp John back into our cell. But what is clear as crystal was the red life that spilled from John’s thigh. Not and entirely deadly wound, but without proper treatment it could, and would, be fatal.