Loathing prompt from The Flame
There is a crash as it hits the floor. I can hear a harsh rasping sort of sound as I stare at it.
A gun.
It had been in my hand. Now it is on the floor. My hand had been shaking too much to hold it anymore. The rasping sound gets worse and then suddenly my vision lurches downwards. I feel the muscles in my face twitch.
A frown.
I'm confused. Why did the world move? Then I realize it wasn't the world that shifted - I am no longer standing. My knees hurt from where they crashed to the floor. Is that where the red stuff is coming from?
I blink, trying to clear the mist from my vision but nothing changes. With my hazy eyes I look across at the gun again. Beautiful, dark and deadly. I try to remember all the interesting facts about it - like it's caliber and how fast the bullets come out - but it's his and that's all I can think of right now. Him. The things he does. The things he forces me to do. I don't like them. It hurts.
The world lurches again and I find that I am now lying in the sticky red substance. It's warm. Kind of comforting in a strange way. I try to get up to move away from it.
I don't deserve comfort or warmth. I'm a disgusting, repulsive whore. I always have been. I don't deserve anything good.
My arms fail to support me, crumpling beneath me. My face hurts from where it hit the floor and I revel in it. Pain is what I need.
I'm blind.
Or maybe my eyes are closed. I'm not sure anymore.
I hear footsteps.
A door opens.
Yelling.
Crying.
Him.