A Pretty Girl’s Plea: Part 2

 
Written by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik |
Published on:

I awoke stiffly, reaching back into the depths of my head to check everything was as it should be, and to my disbelief, my memories and thoughts remained very much intact. The impact of the crash had not shattered my mind, which was something. Then I heard it; a strange soft drilling sound. Though only from a short way off, it must have emanated from a very tiny drill, used for performance upon some very delicate object. It could not have been the sound of the emergency services rescuing me from the rubble, no, that’d be far louder. 

 

Anyway, I was not sitting up in the leather seat of my car anymore, I was lying flat. On some hard wooden bench. I could feel its odd cracks and crevices beneath my weakened form. Something lay over me; a thin cotton blanket of sorts. I began to meekly open my eyes. An oaken beamed ceiling swam softly into view. I blinked hurriedly. I gently attempted to move my left arm, remembering it had felt strange previously. As I pulled, I noticed though it was moving a little, something was confining it from moving more than a centimetre towards me. I twisted my wrist around and found it was tied with a rough thick piece of rope, a carefully turned my head to see if this assumption was true. It was. Then I saw it; to source of the soft drilling sound. A tall minutely thin pillar drill stood to the side of me, bobbing up and down with the frequency of the sound, it was operated by a tall man with waxy pale fresh as if he’d never seen the wanting light of the day. He stood quite calmly as he completed his work with sapphire eyes flashing happily over his creation. What was his creation? I looked to the sharp point at the end of the pillar drill and immediately wished I hadn’t. A body. Laying lifeless beneath. I let out a soft whimpering cry. Too loud. For this sickened man heard everything. 

 

“Is she awake?” he hissed optimistically as he mechanically turned his head to face me. I closed my eyes. “I think she might be… what do you think, Pretty Girl?” he asked beckoningly. I clenched my whole body, hoping he’d forget me and continue with his horrific work. He didn’t. He continued to stare at my pale form. “Come on, Pretty Girl, don’t play shy with me” I blinked again and a sickening smile came into view “Where am I?” I whispered, almost not expecting an answer “Oh, that doesn’t matter” he cooed softly. In one swift deft movement, he brought a flashing silver polished blade down as I screamed.

Copyright © SodaCoffee.com

Author: Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
I’m 15 and Interested in history and English. I dream of being an author in the future.

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