Random Original Story
idk what this is. like i said in my last post, i just started writing and didn't look back. I stopped where I stopped because when i looked down it was almost 7 i needed to sleep.
Shoes slapped the pavement, air rushed through lungs. A harsh breathing could be heard coming close behind. He turned his head, regretting it as soon as the motion began. Shouldn’t look back. Should never look back. That’s the first thing they tell you as a kid. Don’t look back. Don’t ever look back. If you look back you’re dead. He remembers his father, looking him stern in the eye, hands large on his thin shoulders, “Just run, Jake. Just keep your eyes straight in front of you and run. You hear me?”
He catches sight vicious grins before he stumbles, tripping over his own feet. He skids across the pavement, feeling the skin on his arms and face tear and he cries out in pain. They surround him and he lets out a pitiful whimper as he looks up at them, cradling his arm against his chest. A swift kick in the side has him crying out again, curling in on himself for protection.
“What should we do with ‘im?”
“Do we kill ‘im?”
Rough hands grab him by the hair, pulling his head back. “Nah, with the chase he gave us, I think we deserve to have a little fun, don’t you?”
His heart stops in his chest and he prays to God that it doesn’t start again. He lets out a sob when it does, thundering faster and louder than before. “If they do catch you, pray that it’s quick,” the words echo in his head and he closes his eyes. “please, please, please…”
“Shut up!” the harsh words are accompanied by a slap across the mouth. He tastes blood, thick on his tongue but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. Whether it’s to be let go, to be killed quickly or for all this to just be a dream. Another kick, this one to the stomach, makes him stop though and he coughs up blood.
He hears them laugh, dark and low and he hugs his knees tighter to his chest.
“Tie ‘im up. We’ll take ‘im back to base.”
Several pairs of hands grab at him, forcing him to release his fetal position. And he lets them. He’s rolled onto his stomach, his arms pulled back harshly. He grits his teeth and tries not to make a sound. “And if they don’t. If they decide to play with you then try not to react in anyway. The sooner they get bored with you the better.” Lesson three.
There’s a quick scurry of sound and everything stops.
“What was that?”
He gasps softly, his heart picking up speed once again, pounding in his chest. He knows exactly what that was. It was lesson four. Observational learning. He remembers hiding in the shadows with his father. He remembers being in awe of the sky, the stars twinkling in the sky and the moon being so bright. And he remembers watching as some stupid fuck got caught. “Learn from him, son,” his father had murmured solemnly and he had nodded.
He reacted without thinking, twisting his body around to kick at the nearest body because he would be damned if someone else was caught with him - especially a child. Their numbers were dwindling; fewer and fewer children born every year because of the high number of males being caught or taken.
The result was instantaneous: a surprised yell and another kick to the side with a muttered “Fucker.” He struggled a little more, kicking and thrashing about against their hold. And only when he thought he had given them enough time did he fall limp and breathless, letting them have their way with him.
He was pulled to his feet by his hair and he couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped him. He hurt so much; ribs aching, face throbbing and he knew it was only the beginning. He didn’t know what they were going to do with him or how long they would prolong his death. But as he was hoisted over a broad shoulder, he prayed again. Not to be saved and not even for a quick death. He prayed that that child had learned from his mistakes.
“Please, God…”
He heard a derisive snort and the shoulder he rode on shook slightly with laughter, “Stupid shit still believes in God.”
A rough pat on the cheek has him biting his lip trying to ignore the sting of dirty hands touching his bloodied face. “Don’t ya know, boy? God is dead. Has been for a long long time.”
Shoes slapped the pavement, air rushed through lungs. A harsh breathing could be heard coming close behind. He turned his head, regretting it as soon as the motion began. Shouldn’t look back. Should never look back. That’s the first thing they tell you as a kid. Don’t look back. Don’t ever look back. If you look back you’re dead. He remembers his father, looking him stern in the eye, hands large on his thin shoulders, “Just run, Jake. Just keep your eyes straight in front of you and run. You hear me?”
He catches sight vicious grins before he stumbles, tripping over his own feet. He skids across the pavement, feeling the skin on his arms and face tear and he cries out in pain. They surround him and he lets out a pitiful whimper as he looks up at them, cradling his arm against his chest. A swift kick in the side has him crying out again, curling in on himself for protection.
“What should we do with ‘im?”
“Do we kill ‘im?”
Rough hands grab him by the hair, pulling his head back. “Nah, with the chase he gave us, I think we deserve to have a little fun, don’t you?”
His heart stops in his chest and he prays to God that it doesn’t start again. He lets out a sob when it does, thundering faster and louder than before. “If they do catch you, pray that it’s quick,” the words echo in his head and he closes his eyes. “please, please, please…”
“Shut up!” the harsh words are accompanied by a slap across the mouth. He tastes blood, thick on his tongue but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. Whether it’s to be let go, to be killed quickly or for all this to just be a dream. Another kick, this one to the stomach, makes him stop though and he coughs up blood.
He hears them laugh, dark and low and he hugs his knees tighter to his chest.
“Tie ‘im up. We’ll take ‘im back to base.”
Several pairs of hands grab at him, forcing him to release his fetal position. And he lets them. He’s rolled onto his stomach, his arms pulled back harshly. He grits his teeth and tries not to make a sound. “And if they don’t. If they decide to play with you then try not to react in anyway. The sooner they get bored with you the better.” Lesson three.
There’s a quick scurry of sound and everything stops.
“What was that?”
He gasps softly, his heart picking up speed once again, pounding in his chest. He knows exactly what that was. It was lesson four. Observational learning. He remembers hiding in the shadows with his father. He remembers being in awe of the sky, the stars twinkling in the sky and the moon being so bright. And he remembers watching as some stupid fuck got caught. “Learn from him, son,” his father had murmured solemnly and he had nodded.
He reacted without thinking, twisting his body around to kick at the nearest body because he would be damned if someone else was caught with him - especially a child. Their numbers were dwindling; fewer and fewer children born every year because of the high number of males being caught or taken.
The result was instantaneous: a surprised yell and another kick to the side with a muttered “Fucker.” He struggled a little more, kicking and thrashing about against their hold. And only when he thought he had given them enough time did he fall limp and breathless, letting them have their way with him.
He was pulled to his feet by his hair and he couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped him. He hurt so much; ribs aching, face throbbing and he knew it was only the beginning. He didn’t know what they were going to do with him or how long they would prolong his death. But as he was hoisted over a broad shoulder, he prayed again. Not to be saved and not even for a quick death. He prayed that that child had learned from his mistakes.
“Please, God…”
He heard a derisive snort and the shoulder he rode on shook slightly with laughter, “Stupid shit still believes in God.”
A rough pat on the cheek has him biting his lip trying to ignore the sting of dirty hands touching his bloodied face. “Don’t ya know, boy? God is dead. Has been for a long long time.”