Hostage: Short Story: Hostage By Merald Ayson

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Hostage By Merald Ayson Short Story The smell of death, lingering as if I have been here all my life. The bleak darkness screams into a harmony of dissonance, looking me in the eye as if to tease. In a puddle of wet and pungent materials and fluids I lay motionless; I do not remember how I even got there in the first place. My heart was rattled as I heard heavy footsteps; it was as if a giant was entering the room. The cold wind breezed through and gave me shivers down my spine, but I need not move a muscle or I may suffer the consequences. I held my breath and tried to keep calm while my heart turned into a tornado inside of me as I heard the steel toes coming closer. For the first time in my life I prayed; it was a very unexpected response knowing myself as a free thinker. The sound of metal clanging. The aura of death getting closer. I heard something unsheathe. Then what followed was the most horrifying sound I have ever heard. Muffled screams of a woman. High pitched and broken. Like a pig whose throat was being slit. Reaching a crescendo, I could’ve sworn I heard blood spurts. A major artery, perhaps? I felt the warm fluid gradually gushing towards my back, I resisted the urge to move. I feel the essence of the poor woman slowly fading away; her blood hugging my clothes on the stony floor. A small puddle forming circles around me, thick and consistent, now reaching my scalp. The smell of death is now upon me, caressing each part of my limp body. A sudden swishing

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