A Short Story : A Story?

I was four years old when my sister, Sarah, was born. I was five when she died.

Still looking around through pitch black darkness I hear it again, louder and closer this time. My heart beats a bit faster in a panic of fear and adrenaline, and my eyes dart to the foot of the bed, hoping to see nothing and calm down. But instead, at the foot of the bed I can barely make out

I awoke to a cacophony of screams, both of excitement and of pain. I jolted up quickly, unable to control my own muscles or vocal chords, as if a spectre was holding me back with airy fingers of death.

I attempted to wiggle my fingers, the pain throbbed worse than before. "No it hurts." I whined, the pain brought tears to my eyes. My hand was swollen and badly bruised.

“Y/N, I have a bloody metal arm! He’s going to hate me, I can already feel it,” He spoke quickly, leaning sloppily on your kitchen counter.

My vision blurs momentarily, then focuses and I freak out. I slap the hand away from me, scrambling back. Terror fires through me as my mind still tries registering what’s happening. I don’t get far in my scrambling as my back slams into a wall and I turn, panicking.

'A' reaches under to remove the obstruction, pulls the arm down and away and slices to the neck.

Before I can begin to plead again, a big, course, calloused hand covers my mouth, a muscled arm bands around my middle, and then I’m lifted off the ground, and hauled away. My screams stifled, my struggles futile.

“Help me! My arm fell off!!!!” The servant limps over to her. That is when she knew. “AHHHHHH!”

He lifts his hand with a gasp,I say “Jackson you big jerk!” When he fell a rusty nail went through his

I feel a big strong hand grab my arm and pull me to a stop. I scream as loud as my little voice and go. Hitting him he grabs my other hand twisting it hard, sending a screaming pain up my arm. Letting go of both my arms. He covers my mouth so I won’t scream, taking his other hand he places is on my back and gets lower and lower down my back. I start to squirm and to get out of his grip but it’s so tight. He start to pull up my dress revealing my underwear. I tried to kick him but he shoved me on the floor, hitting my head hard on a branch. Going dizzy I can feel him climbing on top of me lifting my dress up higher. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run far away, I wish I had listened to my mom. But I couldn’t run away, or scream I was so dizzy from hitting my head I blacked

“Michael, Mike, are you listening to me?” The two men in the front of the car turn to look around to look at me and I’m struck by how similar they look, both have baby blue eyes and slicked back brown hair. Despite the fear rising in me, I can’t get over how bad their hair looks. They could have dunked their head in a vat of oil and still walked away looking better than this. Their mouths are moving but all I can do is look around at the car I’m in. I can’t seem to find a way to escape, their car is straight out of the 90s with its boxy interior and stained grey interior. I’m brought back to reality when one of them grabs my shoulder and gives it a rough shake, it takes all my power not to flinch and recoil. I look at the shoulder where he grabbed me and see it swathe in a dress shirt, a large men’s shirt. I look down and grab different parts of my face, rubbing my hands over my coarse hair and scratching them on my scuff as I realize I’m a man, I’m not me, I’m not a woman, I’m someone else now. The guys look at

I look over the edge and I can see his broken body below, beckoning me to follow. Stepping over the railing I feel my heart in my throat. I close my eyes and begin to lean forward preparing to fall, but before I’ve got a chance to let go a hand wraps itself around my wrist and pulls me back. My eyes snap open and I see a girl who must be around my age holding me back.

"Yeah yeah. Shut yer trap! We got 'em." Another man pushed me up almost too fast for me into a sitting position. From his rough force, my entire spine and ribs twist in agonizing pain.

and you buckle to your knees as the lack of food gets to you. The