Sarah heard the shout. She dropped the register she had been busy breaking into two or three pieces and went out through the hole in the wall. She stopped, cold. Peter was lying there on the ground, blood streaming from his nose and forehead, pooling around his head in a slushy mess.

Suddenly, she was hit from the side. She went down, hard. The snow was thick enough to cover the alleyway asphalt, but not enough to cushion her fall. It was then that the hunger pang hit. Hard.

Sarah had a brief second to feel terror before the man with the icy blue eyes had her on her back in the snow. Her hair matted under her head, and got into her eyes, nose, and mouth. She started shaking with hunger, unable to do much but move weakly under him. His mouth split into a wide grin, tongue protruding from his teeth in a frightening verson of ecstasy.

“bitch got away, but you’ll do,” he said, three times over. “bitch got away but you’ll do.” Like a mantra. “bitch got away but you’ll do.”

Sarah tried to kick him, scratch him, head butt him. She could feel Peter bleeding somewhere to her left. She felt helpless, unable to do a damn thing. Like the time with the floating in her living room. Like her mom’s singing voice. Wherediditgoohgodhe’sgonna–/

Her panicked mind refused to feel his hands brutally grabbing her breasts, moving violently down to her carharts, and ripping open her pants, pulling up her shirt. It was fucking cold, and the small of her back recoiled in weak horror at the snow as it touched. Sarah refused to feel the beast above her pulling her pants below her waist and shoving a cold hand into her. It hurt. She refused to feel it. ohgodmakeitstopmakeitstop she shook with hunger and fear.

He continued to chant, “bitch got away but you’ll do. bitch got away but you’ll do,” as he pulled his own pants down, flipped her over onto her stomach and roughly entered her, panting and breathing like the sick fuck that he was. Her terror and disgust fueled a surge of strength, that sent him flying back, hitting the chain link fence that lined one side of the alley. She could do no more, not without some food, and it was all inside her jacket inside the pawn shop. She lay there, shuddering, bracing herself for his return.

She waited some more. Shuddering with hunger, cold, fear and just plain relief that he wasn’t on top of her. She slowly lifted her head, heavier than it ever had felt, and looked to her right. Peter was there, lying on the ground near the painted brick exterior wall of the pawn shop. She feebly moved herself to a sitting position, pulling all her limbs in tight, hugging herself as best she could. She hurt inside, and her ass was cold on the snow. She struggled to stop shaking, but couldn’t. Tears frozen on her cheeks were the only indication she had felt anything emotionally.

Sarah pulled herself along the ground toward the hole in the wall, desperate for calories of any kind. She reached into the hole, found her jacket, and pulled it out after her. She felt around for the pockets and the powerbars inside. She opened one, and chewed it slowly, feeling the shakiness subside. She opened a second one, and finished it before she felt even remotely able to stand up, pull up her pants and look at Peter again.

He seemed to be breathing. Sarah looked across the alley to the chain link fence. Her rapist had hit the fence so hard that he had partially passed through it. She could see around the back of the man’s body, little diamond pieces of bloody flesh hanging through the links. His vacant, startlingly icy blue eyes looked up at her, not a shred of intelligence even hinted at. His dead body was like that of an animal to her.

Sarah looked at him, and then pushed him the rest of the way through.

She turned, picked Peter up, and ran to the emergency room.

This entry was posted in nanowrimo, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.
  • Categories

  • Archives