My piercing scream echoed through the almost empty hall, and I desperately ran.
He was faster. There was no doubt about it. He was faster. He also had the advantage of catching me alone. There were no people in this hall other than us.
I did try to fight. He grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me towards him, and, unavoidably, I was in his grasp.
"You don't stand a chance, girly." He whispered, his breath smelling of onions. He wrapped his arms around my torso and pushed me against the wall slowly, his mouth inches from mine.
He had grabbed me at such an angle that I couldn't kick, couldn't punch. I couldn't fight back. I couldn't stop him.
Then the unavoidable happened.
I slowly sat up, in a pool of my own blood. He had left long ago. Hours, maybe. I shook as I swept my hair from my face, leaving blood in it. Almost my entire body had smears of blood on it. My lower body ached. It felt as if a thousand knives were all moving in and out of it at once.
I massaged it with my bloody hand, and the pool of blood grew larger. I gasped with pain.
I tried to call out. No one heard me. Using my hands, I dragged myself to the wall and propped my back against it. I reached toward my small handbag. I grabbed my small, rectangular cell phone and, with a shaking hand, tried to call the police.
My phone's screen was smashed. No doubt it was his doing.
A sharp, stabbing pain filled my body, and I doubled over.
I moaned quietly, and slowly, everything turned fuzzy. I couldn't see one foot in front of myself, and everything looked glazed over.
Am I dying? I thought to myself.
It would be welcomed.
