The Ravaged by Norman Reedus

Author:Norman Reedus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2022-02-11T21:38:20+00:00

ANNE

The figure lays facedown, haloed by a crimson pool as dark and glossy as used engine oil. Kneeling, Anne reaches out and gingerly touches the back of Mitch’s head.

Jerking upward, he plants his palms on the bloody floor and pushes up to his knees, searching for balance. He gazes into Anne’s eyes. One side of his face is swollen and purplish, reminding her of a turnip. Blood drips down from his temple as he says through gritted teeth, “Little bitch, why’d you fuckin’ hit me?”

“You grabbed at me, got rough. I was defending myself.”

“Bullshit!” he rages, thick white spittle in the corners of his mouth. “You’re stealing from Dad!”

Mitch lunges toward her, head jabbing like a venomous snake. Anne scoots backward. Staggers, off balance. The back of her head bumps the cabinet door.

Following her, Mitch gets to his feet, awkward, zombie-like, limbs rigor mortis stiff, and comes at her. “You little bitch. Stealing from your own kin, leaving me for dead.”

His words echo in Anne’s head. Clamping her eyes shut, she twists her head from side to side. “No! No! No!” she screams. She doesn’t want to do this, to get trapped in this game of victimhood. Turning to run, she slips on the slick of Mitch’s blood. Her forehead clips the countertop. Lips and teeth scrape down the cabinet door. Her chin smacks the floor. Vibrations rattle through her face. Neck. Shoulders. From behind, she feels her brother’s hands climbing her legs, digging into her calf muscles.

And as she had done to the attacking dog when escaping over the fence, and to the rail-yard worker when escaping under the fence, she kicks. She jerks. She fights. No longer wanting this life, this violent trajectory of actions from a family that kept her down. She kicks and kicks as the hands keep digging, squeezing, then shaking her entire being awake.

Crunching upward and sitting on her ass. Chest heaving, lungs burning. Eyes watering. She stares at the blurred outline until it coalesces into Cinnamon. Feeling a warm weight pressing against her thigh, she looks down at Cinnamon’s hand.

Words of concern fall softly from Cinnamon’s lips in the twilight of what Anne guesses is morning. “You all right?”

Clambering out of the snagged and dirty sleeping bag, Anne looks around. Seeing the fleecy-white guts and the interior of red and black plaid, she realizes she isn’t home. “Yeah. Just a bad dream.”

“Been trying to wake you for a few minutes. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Anne considers her words before she speaks. Can she trust the girl? She feels that she can. Feels comfortable with her, as if Anne, too, belongs in this world of hers. There was this mutual feeling of belonging. Acceptance in this new domain of life. It is something foreign to her, something she isn’t accustomed to. Anne keeps reinforcing this acceptance, this fresh start. Telling herself this is a place devoid of judgment. Of rules. Of hurt. Inhaling deep, she holds her breath, then exhales slowly. Cinnamon’s touch is gentle, comforting.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.