Not Dead Yet

A short story I came up with prompted by tumblr's WriteWorld picture. :)

The inspiring picture given:

(writeworld.tumblr.com)

It’s pouring rain, the clouds covering all but a small section of the moon. It glows down on the sharp,wet, slippery stones slicing at my bare feet. I’m not cold. I have only a loose flannel shirt now drenched in water and a pair of dark jeans on but I’m not cold because my blood is pounding so fast through my veins it might explode them. 

My heart feels like a bird banging against my rib cage, desperately trying to get free. It knows that it is not going to make it much longer. It knows that this is the end. I think I hear the blood rushing through my head. He said tonight. We both know I won’t make it. How could I make it?

I bow my head as the rain pounds down harder, like needles digging into my skin. It reminds me of when I got the tattoos on my arm. Beading water and sweat drips over the images of monsters and roses and angels’ wings. I pull myself onto a shelf in the rocky cliff, my fingers digging into the handhold, my toes scrambling for purchase. I crawl up, my knees bursting with pain and blood as the rough edges knife through my skin. They sting as the rain washes the blood away, covering my skin and the ground I’m sitting on in a faded pink water.

I struggle to my feet and look down. I do not see him, but the ground is twenty feet down and the rain is so fierce and thick I can barely see a foot in front of my face. I wipe water out of my eyes, and squint to try to see if he’s here already. I look down at my watch face. It’s time already. Where is he?

A loose rock echoes as it falls down the rocky cliff from the rain’s erosive abilities. I jump and have to catch myself to keep from falling off the shelf’s edge. The adrenaline is starting to fade and I’m shivering. Violent tremors that shake my whole body.

And then something grabs and pushes me against the cliff.

‘Take your shirt off. Show you have no weapons.’ It’s a snarl of a voice. A monster of a face. 

My body is spasming from cold and fear. There’s nothing in his hands except blood from climbing up after me. My numb fingers undo my shirt and I drop it to the ground. He yanks it away from me and throws it over the edge. I watch it fall and he slaps my face, sneering.

‘Don’t even think about trying to push me. You hear?’ I stare at him and know there is no possibility of me being able to push him, but his aggression, his very comment spark a little bit of boyish rebellion in me. I kick at his ankle and pain shoots of my leg with the force of the kick, bringing tears to my eyes. The action makes his growl like an animal. A sound that makes the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up.

He smashes a fist like a hammer into my stomach and I can’t breathe. I crumple to the ground in pain and a fierce kick is delivered to my chest. Something cracks and I cry out. He laughs, tells me I’m so worthless. Here I am, and I cannot even fight him man-to-man.

But he knows that, of course. We both know that. We have never been equals. We were not meant to be.

But as I lie there I realize I don’t want to die on the ground. I want to die standing. Facing him. So he can remember what he does to me for the rest of his life.

I push my back against the cliff and slowly inch my way into a standing position again. Everything is slightly blurry. My head is spinning and there are funny dots in my vision. I can’t focus on what’s in front of me very well, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel the rocks behind me, keeping me on my feet.

I spit blood onto the ground, aiming for where I think his feet are. ‘I’m not dead yet, you b*****d.’

Author's Note

Have at it my friends. :)

Reviews

[dw817]

I am reading this ... and wondering if the protagonist is somehow poisoned ... ? The opponent does not appear to be any stronger. This story - is grim and gritty. If that is what you were trying to portray you have succeeded.

Yet the reader will definitely want to see a conclusion here. Either the protagonist seeing his dying days or the assailant.

[Wall of Words]

Actually, there is not ending. It's kind of like "The Woman or the Lion?" Where I'm letting the reader decide to a certain degree.
The protagonist actually isn't poisoned in the sense you mean. It's more like a poisoning of the mind, in which he does not believe in himself, therefore he can't. And.. yes I know the story is kind of grim and dark but alas! the world is not as beautiful as we wish it is. :/
Thanks for reading. :)
WW

[dw817]

The Lady And The Tiger. I haven't heard about that for a-while. And yes, that is a bully's strongest weapon, is when their victim does not feel the strength they need to overcome adversity propelled by the antagonizer.

As for the Lady And The Tiger, were it me. I would speak at each door to find which one she was in before committing an open. :)

[G. H. Ivanovic]

Very well written.
A pleasure to read.
Keep up the good work!

[Wall of Words]

Thank you G.Ivory for spending the time to read my little piece. :)

[Marie]

I like it. Nothing more has to happen. You've made your point.

[Wall of Words]

Thank you very much. I'm so glad you enjoyed it.
WW

[Christoph]

AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS
AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS

[Wall of Words]

Ah... I'm afraid that is not part of the story Christoph. XD
I'm glad you are eager to know about the story however. :)
WW

[Pratik Mishra]

Thrilling. I enjoyed it. :)

[Wall of Words]

Really?! Oh good. You have no idea how relieving it is to have someone say it was thrilling. XD
read moreReally?! Oh good. You have no idea how relieving it is to have someone say it was thrilling. XD
Thank you so much for reading. :)
WW