Prisoner

The light spiraled into the room like a spider spinning its web. How long had she been asleep? Was it the moon or the sun that voyaged through the small hole in the ceiling? Victoria sat in utter silence. Her ankle was stained with dark purple splotches, devoured by the pain they brought. She wished she had a knife; then she could slice it off and rid herself of the ache it caused her. She felt blood streaming from the cuts that lined her forearms and wrists, even though she could not see them, tied up with splintered rope behind her back. Her belly ached with unbearable hunger.

A loud creak resounded through the room, the wooden floor carrying the cacophony. The stone door flew open with a noisy thwack. She recognized the man that walked in as if he’d only existed in a dream. She knew his eyes, oh, those eyes. They glowed a fierce shade of yellow, like a cat’s. He had a syringe in his right hand, filled with a pale, sea-foam fluid. He was here to kill her; they couldn’t get any answers from her, so they were giving up. She started to laugh; she couldn’t help it; the shifters were always so lazy. They lacked the diligence that her kind had. They didn’t know that she wanted nothing more than to die, to make the pain of her life leave, to abandon the burning of her stomach, the stinging of her wrists, the aching of her ankle.

The witch’s cackles filled the room, absorbing every nook and cranny. The insane chuckle stole his attention. He took a step back. The malevolent face of the witch caused a cold sweat to break out. It drenched his body with sticky fear. She didn’t stop. He took a reluctant step forward, worried to carry out the job. They would kill him if he didn’t do it. Her burning laugh was all he could hear. Still cautious, he strode up to Victoria. The cackles were deafeningly loud, almost shrieking. He quickly stabbed the needle into her neck. Victoria’s vision began to fade, but her psychotic smile stayed. her last laugh stopped in her throat as the poison reached her heart. She would go where nothing, not even the pain, could follow.