Strange

Strange is my middle name. But that's okay. Maybe it's for the best. Because as far as I'm aware, being strange has helped me survive. Welcome to the world of the dead, who roam the blood painted streets. Those freaks have taken from me. Taken everything. And they have tried to take me. I don't think so.

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8. Stop Trying

I wake up in a building. Like an office building I guess. My vision is blurry at first but i find it easier to see within minutes. I look around. Patrick is unconscious in the corner. Carl is awake but is tied to a desk.  I'm tied to a pipe that leads to a water fountain just a few feet away. The thought makes me thirsty. I probably haven't had water in almost a coupke of days. It's a small room. Just big enough to have a few peices of furniture fitting comfortably.

I look over to Patrick. He is gasping for air. I'm not sure why but I start screaming. Hoping Jake isn't evil enough to let a young boy die. But I second guess that hope. I know he's up to no good. I shut my mouth and begin working on the old cloth that keeps me restrained. I bite and chew at it, breaking a few threads ata time. I have alwys kept my teeth helthy and sharp. One tooth is ever so slightly chipped in the back. I always hated it but now is a good time to use it to my advantage. I rip the cloth pretty easily with my teeth. Jake may be up to no good but he is showing plenty of signs of weakness. What scares me is the possibility that he is doing all of this on purpose. 

I crawl to Patrick, pullong his head into my lap. He is still gasping, trying not to give up. He is still trying to stay with us. What is the problem though? "Come on, can you get on your knees? Try coughing something up? Something? I'm not a doctor I don't know what's wrong!" I say trying to help him up. Just as he is on his hands and knees, he coughs up blood. "Oh shit..." my voice is strained. I know he can't survive much longer. It's something internal. I look over to Carl. "Did they hit him?!"

Carl nods. His eyes are focused on the floor with a sign of sadness. It's like he didn't even notice that Patrick was choking, coming closer to death. "In the stomach" his voice evenly responds.

He is internally bleeding. He's choking on his own blood. To think tge living dead is out there and he may die from something stupid like internal bleeding from a hit of the stomach. Well... we all might die like that... I'm not believing that though. I'm not giving up. I'm still trying. 

After a minute or two of me trying to calm him his coughing fit is over. He is stable. I guess. I'm no doctor but he is sick. His skin is more pale than before. The life seems to be draining from his eyes. I hold him. I just want him to at least die in some comfort. I want him to know someone cares enough to keep him in their arms in his last moments. I just can't let him die in vain. They must die. Even if he survives.

They.

Must.

Die.

Who kidnaps three vulnerable kids who honestly can't help much? It's not like we have much strength. We just have agility and health. 

.

The door swung open and Jake had a toothpick in the corber of his mouth. A hand was on his hip while the other held a gun. "You, come here." His gun waved to Carl. But Carl never even looked up. "Hey! Get up!" The man demanded. After another no-response, the man came over to me. I layed Patrick against the wall, sitting just infront of him. He can't get hurt again. He may die.Jake grabbed my hair and tossed me across the floor. His foot swung back. 

No.

Don't touch him.

I lunged forward and his foot clashed with my arm. Pain jolted through me. I screamed and he was beginning to enjoy my pain. I snarled at him. He brought his leg back again, hitting my hip. Another river of pain flooded each cell of my body.

Carl still hasn't looked up. 

"Well I guess she will do." That disgusting smirk of his was planted on his lips. I wish I could punch him right in that mouth of his... 

His hand grabbes my arm, pulling me to my feet. I was having a hard time standing but I'm okay... just get through this for them. You owe them. It's your fault that they... survived... wait...

He took me to another room, throwing me to the carpetted floor. The room was pretty bare. I looked around for something to use as a weapon. "I'll be right back." His voice sounded like that of a pleased man. 

I was trapped. My heart raced. My head throbbed. My hip and arm ached. I was vulnerable.

He came back and spit the tooth pick out. His smirk had grown yet again across his disgusting lips. He smelled of beer and sewer. I gagged. He pressed me against the wall. I was practically hanging by my shoulders. I struggled and was trying to find a way to harm him as much as he harmed me. But before I could think of a plan of any sort his hips dug into mine. I couldn't knee him... "there" with the way he was positioned. I still squirmed and fought, my limbs flailing as much as they were freed to. 

"Stop trying. It's not like you'll get out of this." He moved his hand to my hip. "Besides. Someone needs to teach you a lesson."

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