It is creeping into the early hours of the 21st of March 2031. A young woman sits hunched over sodden cardboard clutching the most important of her limited possessions; the lighter shaking in her sloppy grasp. She becomes one with her surroundings, overlooked by passers-by. She has no sense of the brooding violence in the air around her. In her vulnerability, she feels safe.
A familiar figure invades the woman's vision, she is smartly dressed, her greyish locks manipulated into an intricate braid. Before the woman's glazed eyes, the figure bestows a warm smile, which penetrates the contempt prevalent on the night of the Purge. The warmth she felt from the familiar lady made her evident high all the more intense and gave her a feeling of importance in the corrupted world she existed in, shunned by her former social circle.
She wasn't too sure how long the figure coexisted with her in her private hell, hidden from mainstream society, uncomfortably lodged among the selfish hustle of the city. The hope derived from the advent of the apparition becomes insignificant when the meaning behind her utterances becomes lost in translation, unfathomable to the lethargic scum, listless in the deserted underpass.
The woman is unable to cry, her senses dimmed by her self-prescribed anaesthetic. The suppressed yearning for affection from her mother wrenches her insides, seeming to physically torture her, yet there is no physical attack.The lady standing metres away, with progressively translucent skin seems to be stuck in a loop of friendly salutations. Although the lady's intentions seem wholesome, they are only creating havoc within the woman's already too fragile mind.
The dark blanket that then consumes the woman is constricting like a noose and strikes terror deep into her soul. The emptiness she is suffocating in fails to surprise her as she has felt it too many times before; it is nearly as familiar as the ghostly lady's face has been.
The shrill scream pierced through the infinite darkness she'd grown accustomed to. Instinctively, her head falls to where the onslaught is, yet her brain is still pondering on the darkness.
Tepid liquid drips onto her cheek, her fingers rise to survey its origin, though she realises soon after that her fingers are doused in a crimson substance. All too late she becomes aware of the metallic weapons that are being flaunted in front of her face, being brandished by strange figures leering over her. She notices that their faces are encased by sneering masks, creating the aura of her encroaching demise.
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Abandoned (The Purge Fan Fiction)
FanfictionThere should have been no question that Freya Norton would survive The Purge. That is, until she publicly shamed her family when she lost her job, became hopeless and reached the same level as the scum of the city. This resulted in her family disown...
