The Third Door [NaNoWriMo 2014]

"I died.
Now I live.
But I live within the boundaries of my head.
What happens on the outside is beyond my control."
Constructive criticism is very welcome on this. I will be updating in small sections, but I will probably republish this with proper chapter splits when I finish it. © 2014 Parsavagely


38. Chapter 7 Part 5 (End of Chapter 7)

A heavy hand throws a girl into a room, slamming the door behind her. She tumbles to the floor, a stifled sob leaving her body as she crawls to the unwelcoming wall. She does not open her eyes, reaching out with a shaking hand to find the surface. When she does, she props the back of her head against it, her eyelids forced tightly together. She begins to twitch, shaking her head from side to side, uncertain mumblings escaping her lips. The twitches become flailing, she stands awkwardly, still with no visual reference to guide her. Her arms are loose, like the rags around her battered body, swinging with seemingly no direction or purpose. Her fists scrape against the rough stone, prompting her to charge in the vague direction of the contact. Beating against the wall, eyes still firmly shut, she lets her muttered words ring, growing slowly in volume and frustration.

“Let me out! I hate you! Let me die!” she screams.

There is no reply to her demands; she crumples to the floor, still pounding against the wall.  Grazes and cuts do not stop her, nor does exhaustion. Her head is angled downwards, so that her hair falls in front of her face, no tears fall, but her mouths constant movement is hidden behind her natural veil. The skin on her hands is raw, but she carries on regardless. Interspersing curses between her pleas for freedom, she keeps her torrent of noise going. She knows it makes no difference how many times she asks, but she hopes to appeal to the better nature of her captor. She has seen that he understands emotion, that he can even empathise with her, sometimes even seeming to care. Of course, it is all an act; all some predetermined script to be played out so that she hates life just the right amount at all times.

The first door opens; a heavy hand knocks into her face. She falls back, but continues to shout and keeps her eyes shut. He lifts her from the ground, her shouts almost deafening as he draws near.

“Kill me! I hate you! I hate you! Get off me! Don’t tou–ʺ

Her shouts are finally ended by his mouth over hers, stealing her air. Her eyes snap open. The heavy hand holds the back of head, stopping her from turning away or drawing back. Although purely functional, he enjoys the kiss that keeps her silent. Eventually, she stops resisting, her clenched fists opening and her legs collapsing from beneath her. He releases her from his forced affection, letting her drop to the ground. Still not content, he plants a kick in her belly, angry that she still can’t see past his heavy hand. The heavy hand that he slams into the wall, releasing his aggression that builds up beneath his considered actions.

The heavy hand closes the first door, then bursts through the second.

“Sweet dreams,” he sneers, before stepping through.

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