Status: INACTIVE
Cave
Weird what comes to mind on the most desperate times. Forgotten memories and random pieces of the past. Sometimes the brain drowns the mind with thoughts, not questions. Instead of asking why it came to this, there is a reminder of what was before. Maybe it’s denial, maybe trying to remember better times and maybe fear of the upcoming.
There were three figures on the ground, none of them was moving.
A small body of a thin man that barely moved; his chest would rise and then fall back slowly but that was it. On his arms there were some scratches – they came from the little rocks on the ground. His clothes were dusted. He was aware to none of these.
Steps sounds echoed around the place as someone made his way over to the bodies. The person, whoever that is, looked at the three figures on the ground, and quickly made his way over to the smallest out of them – not youngest, physically smallest.
As the active brain had reached its target, he knelt down and gripped the sleeping person’s black hair. Tightening his grip, he stood back up pulling the person with him.
The brown haired guy was not aware to anything, he did not know what was happening, but he shouted in pain.
Slowly, the slim person opened his eyes. He was facing a stranger, and the stranger was hurting him.
“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing?” the slim person asked, strong British accent fitted in his sleepy voice.
He hadn't received an answer to his questions. Not a verbal one, anyway. The man, who was still holding his hair, punched the slim guy’s face instead of answering.
The guy didn’t speak anymore. He didn’t ask anything, he didn’t say anything – he figured it would be better to shut up.
The fist had hit the side of his nose, and the cheek underneath his right eye. Automatically, he had brought his hands over to his face as blood began to flow. The red warm liquid was speeding out of the guy’s nose, leaving trails on his long fingers as the blood drops made they way everywhere – mouth, clothes, arms, chin, neck.
The stranger dragged the slim guy by his hair, over to some silver column. The slim guy was in so much pain coming from his face, he had barely felt the pain from the man pulling him by the hair.
Once reaching the destination, the stranger tied the slim guy’s legs wrapped around the metal. Quickly, he ripped slim guy’s hands off his face and tied them behind the column, which was touching the guy’s back.
“One word. I don't want even to hear one word coming out of your mouth, is that clear?” the stranger asked, he wasn’t shouting but he spoke loudly. “I hate your voice.” And then he disappeared, leaving the slim guy terrified.
The stranger didn’t have to say it, slim guy knew that that guy is capable of killing him, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
There were three figures on the ground, none of them was moving.
A small body of a thin man that barely moved; his chest would rise and then fall back slowly but that was it. On his arms there were some scratches – they came from the little rocks on the ground. His clothes were dusted. He was aware to none of these.
Steps sounds echoed around the place as someone made his way over to the bodies. The person, whoever that is, looked at the three figures on the ground, and quickly made his way over to the smallest out of them – not youngest, physically smallest.
As the active brain had reached its target, he knelt down and gripped the sleeping person’s black hair. Tightening his grip, he stood back up pulling the person with him.
The brown haired guy was not aware to anything, he did not know what was happening, but he shouted in pain.
Slowly, the slim person opened his eyes. He was facing a stranger, and the stranger was hurting him.
“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing?” the slim person asked, strong British accent fitted in his sleepy voice.
He hadn't received an answer to his questions. Not a verbal one, anyway. The man, who was still holding his hair, punched the slim guy’s face instead of answering.
The guy didn’t speak anymore. He didn’t ask anything, he didn’t say anything – he figured it would be better to shut up.
The fist had hit the side of his nose, and the cheek underneath his right eye. Automatically, he had brought his hands over to his face as blood began to flow. The red warm liquid was speeding out of the guy’s nose, leaving trails on his long fingers as the blood drops made they way everywhere – mouth, clothes, arms, chin, neck.
The stranger dragged the slim guy by his hair, over to some silver column. The slim guy was in so much pain coming from his face, he had barely felt the pain from the man pulling him by the hair.
Once reaching the destination, the stranger tied the slim guy’s legs wrapped around the metal. Quickly, he ripped slim guy’s hands off his face and tied them behind the column, which was touching the guy’s back.
“One word. I don't want even to hear one word coming out of your mouth, is that clear?” the stranger asked, he wasn’t shouting but he spoke loudly. “I hate your voice.” And then he disappeared, leaving the slim guy terrified.
The stranger didn’t have to say it, slim guy knew that that guy is capable of killing him, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.