Help me.
It feels as though I'm drowning. I'm kicking but I'm still sinking further into the depths.
It feels as though I've been buried. I can feel the weight on my chest making it harder to breathe.
No one helps.
No one can hear my silent screams of hurt and pain.
Everyone just walks on by, ignoring the homeless girl writhing in pain, back arching off the pavement in the old store entrance.
I can't remember the last time the pain was this bad, I don't think it has ever been this bad. It feels like fire burning from the inside, so close to engulfing me.
Because that's what it is. Fire.
The muatation I've been blessed with is now so close to killing me. The fire has been burning hot for years now, but it is now close to cremating me.
The fire needs to be released but after last time I can't. What kind of person could live with themselves after what I did, this is my punishment.
The rain has started and I shuffle out slightly, still laid down to let the rain soak my face. Cooking my red hot skin, I swear I can hear it sizzle. I don't know how long I lie there, simply letting myself become soaked to the skin when I sense someone looking at me. I gather the strength to open my eyes and see one eye staring back. He's tall, older wearing an eye patch and an ominous black trench coat. He bends down and reaches out for me, placing two fingers on my throat, looking for signs of life, guess I look as bad as I feel. He signals to some one behind him and I feel myself being lifted into someone's arms. They are strong, solid and cool to my skin. I'm carried into some kind of vehicle but I can tell it's not an ambulance.
"You've been hard to track Ashline, do you know who I am" the man with the eye patch says as I'm placed onto a seat, my head in someone's lap and my legs stretched out. I can't speak, I'm simply to tired.
The man sighs and turns to to man who carried me into the vehicle, who's lap my head is now resting in.
"She's strong like you Phil, she has your eyes" the man begins pushing her hair off her face, and places a cool towel across her forehead.
"But she has her mother's hair" Phil Coulson replies to his boss, stroking his daughters head, relishing the feeling of having her back in his arms.