one. two. three. I counted the heartbeats I had stolen for myself. Freedom can slow time like nothing else.
the woods slashed open my legs. It was beginning to get hard to tell where these scars came from. a scalpel a sword, or these woods.
the plants here practically grew on my blood.
four, five, six. that doesn't matter. I'm still alive, if you can even call it that at this point.
it's good enough for me.
seven, eight. it's only just beginning to dawn on me how often we do this. Running through these woods like a terrified animal, trying desperately to find some sanity here, like I have a chance at that anymore.
nine. ten. eleven. I'm beginning to consider the odds of this. near impossible, I understand that already, but "it's useless" is a lie in my book.
twelve, thirteen. I'm still alive.
blood drips down my legs.
I'm still alive.
doubt still plagues me like a disease.
how much farther now? where am I going now?
but I push past that.
it doesn't matter.
one breath of this world's air is enough to get you high off of false hope for days.
I like it.
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Common sense is catching up to me by now.
I might pass out from blood loss.
seventeen eighteen nineteen,
I'm still alive...
I'm still alive. after everything I went through, after everything that should have ended it, I'm still alive.
Death certainly has a healthy sense of irony.
twenty, twenty one, twenty two... keep running, keep running.
twenty three, twenty four, twenty five... desperation spurs my heartbeat. my pristine thought process is shredded by its bestial teeth. the most primal of instincts. how fond of each other we have become.
keep running, keep running.
twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight... terror grips my heels. It lacerates them with its claws. hopelessness stares me in the eyes.
keep running, keep running.
twenty nine, thirty, thirty one... insanity comes through for me, and beats down terror and hopelessness though desperation is still stronger. I'm still alive.
keep running. keep running.
thirty two thirty three thirty four... keep running, keep running...
"hello again, dear. are we going to give up the act yet? we're not going to get anywhere if we keep at it like this." there was a dark chuckle. it took me a moment to realize I had already sunk to my knees.
thirty five, thirty six, thirty seven...
"given up already?" inquired the octava espada. "I was hoping for more of a fight, to be honest... it's almost pitiable to see how weak you really are, darling."
thirty eight, thirty nine, forty... I dragged myself out of the puddle of my own blood. I'm still alive, keep running... I used sonido again, in one last attempt to escape. keep running keep running...
forty one, forty two, forty three... a gloved hand grabbed my windpipe and flung me to the ground. The air heavy with the scent of hope was forced out of my lungs.
"please understand, you are property of me, dear. you won't be getting away, I promise you." Szayel grinned, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. My windpipe threatened to collapse. I knew it wouldn't. "try and cooperate, dear. it's awful you have to put me in this position so often. you know as well as I do how busy I am. running away like this is unbecoming."
fourty four... fourty five... fourty six... my artificially yellow eyes began to dim.
"you're always just so selfish..." he muttered, chuckling, and tightening the grip on my carotid artery, slowing the supply of oxygen to my brain.
forty seven...
forty eight...
at least I'm still alive...