Creative Writing

The world twisted around me, my ears rang, and the world reeked of sulfur. I squeezed my eyes shut – and when I opened them again, I was staring at the night sky. The stars shimmered before my eyes; the rain caressed my face. My mouth was open, but my scream was stuck deep in my chest. With each stab of pain, my vision darkened, until I ceased.

When I next opened my eyes, I was blinded by a wall of blinding light - heaven? Then, the sharp sting in my chest jolted me from my daze. I heard my voice spill from my lungs in agony. I clutched my chest – there was wetness seeping between my fingers. I risked a glance at my hands, expecting them to come away soaked in blood – but they were mercifully clean.

I propped myself up onto my elbow, drinking in my surroundings. I was in a field, nestled in a cot of grass glistening with dew drops. I squinted at the sun – had it always been that bright?   

I staggered upright, slowly - to avoid a second taste of my dinner. I yanked apart the first three buttons on my blouse, spraying buttons into the field. My chest was the color of crushed blueberries and swollen, but there was no blood – no puncture. My jacket was dripping. I stuck my hand into the inner pocket.

Damn.

My flask was split open, the bullet still clanging around inside. I pressed it against my lips, but it was dry. I hurled it as far as I could, a curse shooting from my throat like venom.

I gasped as the pain erupted again, knocking me to my knees. I squeezed handfuls of the damp grass as the waves of searing pain wracked my body. After a moment, it passed. I stood, rubbing my eyes. My stomach dropped.

I scanned the area. Bruce had been scrambling up a hill when he shot me – heading west, judging from the sun. He’d be out of the country by sunset. I hobbled up the hill, scouring the horizon from beneath my hand. He had a hell of a head start.