I can feel my insides tearing up.
Not at the sheer pain, but the thought of my weakness.
I cannot hide my fear anymore
and at my last breath after the shock, I cry out.
What else could I do?
They watch me.
Their watchful eyes scorn me, aching for me to give in, aching for me to not.
If I were to succeed in staying alive, would they be happy?
Do they just want me to die, so they could go have lunch already?
They only mock me as I cry.
I'm only half awake now,
trying to hold onto reality.
There is blood on the floor that recently resided inside me.
It sizzles away as each shock comes.
And the blood shakes as I convulse.
As I'm nearing the end of my will,
I hear a commotion by the door. A woman talking to some men.
I can't tell what she is saying.
It almost sounds like Darcy.
Darcy...