On The Run

Twenty Two

Twitching, I'm uncontrollable, trying to keep my thoughts from overwhelming me. I don't know where all this is coming from, why I'm so...

I keep staring at my hand.

"One. Two. Three." Counting the drops of blood slowly dripping on the ground. My tank top and pants slowly changing color.

No matter. I look good in red. Maybe I should give myself lipstick... Pretty myself up before I get my revenge. I drag my bleeding hand across my face, tasting it.

Stop!

I can't kill this man, I just need to run. I'm weaker than I'm pretending to be, haven't even made it to the stairs yet, I have no plan, I have no chance! Whatever is happening to my head is making me insane.

Still, the sane side of me is not as strong as how insane I feel. I loudly slap my naked feet across the floors, no need to hide myself.

"IM HERE! COME AND FIND ME!" What am I doing? I'm losing it. Whatever the fuck he was doing really messed with my head.

"One, two, three, are you coming for me?"

"Four, five, six, careful, I think I'm sick."

"Seven, eight, nine, better run and hide!"

I'm skipping, my feet don't even hurt, but I can still feel the glass embedded in them. No matter. Other things are important now.

Other things to do. I climb the stairs. I don't know if he heard me yet, but I don't want him to find me on these stairs. Falling is bad. Falling hurts. Falling kills. No, I will make it to the top, and I will find him.

I open the door... Oh mister kidnapper, are you so silly to believe in your death trap not to even lock me in?

Well that's just offensive. It's all dark. Does he even stay here? Perhaps he leaves for a while. Oh now I'm just getting pissed. Silly, silly man. I'm no longer helpless. There is a radio on the counter. I think I'm in the kitchen, but it's too hard to see. I walk to the little light.

"Hello little music box." I turned it on. I didn't even know what was playing. I wasn't listening, I was just dancing.

"La la la la laaaaa." Music. Music is good.

I decided to sit down, I could have sworn an hour had gone by since the last time I was honored with his presence, so why is he late? I grab my head in my hands trying to steady my thoughts.

Listening to the music, I swing my legs off the dirty, dusty sofa in what I think is the living room.

"Oh won't you be surprised mr. kidnapper."

What to do. Jump and bite? Kick and scratch... Or should I find a weapon...

I decide to look in the Kitchen. I guide myself along the walls, I don't want to turn on the lights. The dark will hide me more. 

I shuffle through the cupboards and drawers until I find something. Cold. It's cold against my fingers. Something about the alienated feeling is comforting. Sharp....

It's sharp. Maybe a fork, It will let me stab him... but I would rather find a knife. Still, I cant concentrate so I stick with what I have in my hand. I sway to the beat of the slowed music. My feet are sticky against the ground.

Where did my shoes go? I remember him taking them off, but I wish I could find them. 

I find the dirty sofa again. Slowly sitting down, I can't help but to feel the growing, menacing smile on my face.

I am ready for you mister kidnapper. You should have locked the door.

I feel the fork, studying it. The four sharp points, lightly digging them into my finger tips. This would hurt in the eyes.