On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Forty-Six - "Disastrous Tenacity"

I've just realized that I just haven't said 'Thank You' enough. It's absolutely terrible of me, especially as your comments validate the entirety of what I do. So, thank you very much.

Writing is a wonderful escape. Life IS beautiful a lot of the time, but writing allows a person to be so many different people at once. And how many people get to say they've lived a million lives in one?

I loved writing this, and I love that somehow, the right people are reading it, and getting it, AND even enjoying it. So, thank you for sharing in this, and thank you for constantly encouraging me.

To anyone who has ever felt like running, I won't say don't run, for I may not be able to comprehend any of it. But, I'd like to say, make sure that you're running towards something - a dream, or even just the illusion of tomorrow - and not just away. More importantly, make sure that whatever you're running towards is worth the strife and pain of such a journey.

Then again, sometimes you get lucky. 

I do hope that all of your lives are filled with the kind of wonder and beauty that writing or reading instils in the mind.

_________________________________________________________________

Sarah

He was slumped in the chair, and the blood on the floor was starting to spread.

I waited for the guilt, for the horror, for something. Anything. I was empty. I'll admit, my rage had subsided mildly, but I still couldn't find the morality to regret what I'd done.

I sent a charge running through the electrodes, and he woke, erect. As he came to terms with his surroundings for what must have been the tenth time that night, his face contorted as he registered the pain. Looking down at his groin, his eyes widened and he yelled out so loud, it deafened me. It was a scream, a cry, somewhere in-between a wail and an exaggerated groan.

He was writhing uncontrollably and weeping out in pain, as he bled out of nearly every orifice. Yet, I couldn't summon any empathy or regret. I just was.

I slowly got out of my chair. If I started to enjoy this, then we’d have a huge problem; for now however, the joy I got from his pain was about as psychopathic as I could handle.

“Kill me, please,” he gripped the arms of the chair so tight, the cuts in his hands bled some more. He reached towards me with his entire body and looked right into my face, “Please just kill me. PLEASE! The pain! Oh God! KILL ME!”

He yelled out loud again. Somewhere, pigeons were flapping their wings and flying away from the screams. The walls in this building had been built soundproof, but if you stood outside, there was no way you wouldn’t be able to hear him. I was a little surprised no one had come running in.

I probably had about fifteen minutes before Jake or my dad arrived. I’d timed the call so that by the time they got to Montauk, Robert would be all wrapped up in plastic wrap and I’d be long gone.

I stared at him blankly, “Come on Robert. I'm not a murderer. Why would I kill you?”

He groaned loudly, his tears falling, “PLEASE!”

“I'm not going to kill you, but I am going to watch you die.”

He was pale and losing so much blood, he had very little time left. I looked down at my watch: two twenty-one a.m.