Don't Say A Word
Prologue: I Must Be Dreaming
.oakaT ikoA ot sgnoleb spot ynnips eht fo tpecnoc ehT .initraM ennA ainoS snwo eaS-eriftipS dna, tnarG nipsA snwo elreminA, ayimoniK imayiM snwo ratS-ykculnU, oteaK okikA orehahS snwo srooC, nosneB eiraM rebmA snwo neidaZ .veayleB irtimyD atsirA nwo I :remialcsiD
Plot: She watched a murder unfold before her eyes, and now she won't say a word. Can a certain someone get her to open up and help her get on with her life?
Arista ran as fast as she could, trying to forget what she had just witnessed. She could still feel the mans foul breath on her face. That memory alone made her want to throw up, but she couldn't stop running. It would take too much time, and she didn't want to wait around and see if he was still back there.
She had taken a shortcut through an alleyway because the rain was beating down so hard and fast that she would have caught a cold. Now she wished that she hadn't. She shivered as she remembered the smell of blood, so fresh in her mind. Her legs ached, but still she didn't stop running. She didn't want to take any chances; she just wanted to go home.
Her navy, amber-flecked orbs were blurry as rain lashed out like a whip, striking her with a non-too-pleasant force. Her gut clenched and churned with feelings of nausea. Her fingers were cold and numb, turning pale from the cold.
Her face was streaked with water, and her eyes were unfocused. Arista had no clue where she was going, but she didn't really care. She just wanted to forget about what she had seen. But the unpleasant memories were imprinted in her mind and she knew she would remember it for a long time.
The woman's high, shrill screaming was ringing in her ears, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she could have stopped it, prevented it somehow. She closed her eyes and tried to force the sounds out of her head, but still they remained.
Arista's foot caught in a crack, and she tripped, landing with a thud on the cemented sidewalk. Her head buzzed, and her senses dulled. She felt so hollow, empty. The scenes unfolded in her mind again, and though try as she might to stop it from recurring; she remembered everything down to the last detail.
She heard someone screaming for help and had stopped to listen to the muffled sounds. Looking around she found a shady figure looming over another figure that was lying down on the floor, lifelessly. Car lights flashed on the scene and that was when Arista saw all the blood.
So red and fresh, covering the brick walls, the ground, and the trash cans surrounding the narrow pathway in shades of burgundy and crimson. Another car passed buy, light shining on the male. He was tall and scrawny, the trench coat that he was wearing was painted with scarlet. His black trousers were ripped and worn out in places. He had dark blue eyes shining with a manic glint, his head was covered by a mass of unkempt black hair, sticking to his skull like a cap due to the perspiration pouring from sweat glands on his face. His beard was scraggly and tangled, making him appear even more insanely dangerous than before. His nose was long and crooked, going down to his lips, which were covered with blood, whether his own or someone else's Arista didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were glued to all the blood that was still visible even without light.
Streetlights whizzed on as it got darker, illuminating the still, limp figure under the man. Blood still spurted out from the wounds on the previously living woman, who now lay motionless and blind to the world.
Arista gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and her pulse tripped, causing her lungs to constrict fervently. She inwardly cursed herself as the man turned around, squinting in all directions to find the source of the noise. Arista stepped back into the shadows and silently prayed in thanks that he hadn't seen her.
Taking a step back, she took a small breath so that her lungs wouldn't explode, and pressed herself as close as she could to the grimy wall. Her head spun and she could feel the need to throw up, but resisted the urge for fear of being heard. She swallowed the lump in her throat forcefully and waited with baited breath, watching the man that was only a few feet away from her stab a knife repeatedly into the chest of the already dead woman.
She didn't want to see this, and more importantly she didn't want to die. Arista had three options, to run away and get help, to stay there and leave after the man left, or to walk away slowly without making a sound.
She felt like doing something, anything, but her feet stood rooted to the ground. A rancid feeling formed in the pit of her stomach and she could feel her heart stop beating as the man got up, narrowly missing her by an inch or two. Her breath came out in a rigid gasp, and she froze. He started to walk away into the street, muttering and chuckling to himself.
Suddenly the man stopped walking and glanced back in the alleyway, standing stock-still. Had he heard her? Arista didn't wait to find out, but started to run back the way she had come. If he had heard her, she didn't want to wait around and see what he would do.
Rain slapped down harder on the ground in big, wet drops, accompanied by hail. Arista was mute to the sound of her feet thudding down on the pavement as she ran out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. Footsteps thundered behind her and she picked up her pace, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the woman.
Her head roared with the beginnings of a headache and she cursed her bad luck, as she ran into one-way street. How had she gotten lost in her own neighbourhood? The one that she had lived in for sixteen years now.
"Fuck it!" She growled and took a glance back but was slammed to the ground a second later as the man tackled her.
She landed on her back with the weight of the man on top of her, making her immobile. She struggled against him, but it was no use. He was heavier and stronger than she was. His hands and nails dug into her arms, sending pinpricks of pain shooting through her. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but no sound escaped. Arista tried to find her voice, but it seemed to have disappeared.
A hoarse chuckling was heard from the mouth of the man holding the teenager to the ground. Saliva trickled down his lips, falling on the females' clothes, leaving imprints on the soft material.
The man on top of Arista straddled her hips, so her body was completely immobile. He forced her arms to her sides and leaned down so his face was inches from hers.
"Wha' do we have here?"
His voice was raspy and his breathing was laboured. Warm breath fanned out across Arista's face, smelling distinctly of alcohol mixed with cigarettes and sweat. She closed her eyes and prayed that this wasn't real. It was just a figment of her imagination. This wasn't real. She would wake up in her warm bed and walk downstairs to the living room of her house and see her parents eating breakfast. She would tell them all about it and then laugh at the thought of something like this happening to her.
None of this was real.
"Lookies like a girl..." The slurred speech of the man trailed off while Arista swam in denial.
"D'ya know what we do wi' the likes o' you?" He spoke directly to her, but she didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying.
His grip tightened on her arms, leaving marks in her flesh. She couldn't for the life of her believe this was real. She was dreaming, but the pain felt so real. It was like she was awake, but that wasn't possible ... was it?
She opened her eyes, so dull and blank. Navy orbs stared vacuously up at the man. This was not real. This was not real. This wasn't happening, this wasn't real.
Panic rose within her as she started to realise she would either possibly die or worse, be raped. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to wake up. Though it didn't work, she didn't open her eyes and instead kept them shut tight as cold, wet fingers ran from her forehead to her left cheek. She shivered and tried to shake off the feeling but it was no use because nothing she did would rid her body of that awful sensation.
She was slowly realising that this wasn't a dream and that she had to do something. Standing around and waiting for someone to come along and save her wouldn't do her any good. Frantically she started to kick and struggle vehemently. If he was drunk than that was an advantage, she deduced.
Arista wiggled loose from him, and he in his current state didn't try and stop her because he knew he had the advantage of being older and heavier than she was. He waited a second before he smirked, his fingers enclosing around the females' wrists in an icy iron-like grip.
This was just not her night. Arista was now squatting down trying to break free of his grip, but try as she might, it wouldn't budge.
The man's fist came flying at her, knocking her back onto the sidewalk. Her head hit the cement viciously, her vision clouded, and her head buzzed with dizziness and a rush of blood. She moaned softly as her body went limp and gave way to the cold, dirty ground. A trail of blood traced a long, thick, line from her head to her sweater, and where she lay, a pool of blood was gathering in a ruby puddle surrounding her head. Silver hair was dyed red in blood, and her face was ashen, spatters of blood decorating it in non-too pleasant way.
As Arista passed out, the last thing she heard was a deep, throaty, chuckle say; "Don't say a word... Or I will kill you."