Beaten, abused, left for dead more than once, molested, left mentally unstable...It is enough to make anyone no drive someone into madness to the point of breaking physically, mentally, spiritually, driving to the point of death whether by suicide, or getting killed someway somehow. Anyway. Tears that had once fell now all dried up, pain is an illusion, something that no longer matters, some can survive it become stronger but not without nightmares to plague them for the rest of their lives, to be haunted, tormented, even as they try to live out their life as normal as possible to let death be natural those are the strong ones, but what does it mean to be strong? Strong? An overused word just like brave, courageous, brave, strong, all of them...overused. Would you be able to dig yourself up out of the darkness that threatens you as depression overwhelms your senses as all you can see is red that raises up to your eyes as you drown in your blood? Or can you break free from your shackles, find the light that once promised happiness if it still exists? Will it be the blue pill or the red?
WARNING: Story contains violence, depressing thoughts, suicide, spanking, mentions of, about, and rape, may be disturbing to some readers. Read at your own risk.
EPILOGUE
There, she knew it was there...she couldn't see it couldn't pinpoint it. Yet she could hear the breathing that seemed to echo off the walls. She was caught in a cross fight between the predator and the prey, yet to be discovered of what she was. The hunted maybe? She didn't move from her spot as she just knelt down as if accepting her fate, glad to no longer be pulled along like a pet on a leash. Her neck ached from the weight it wore, her wrists bruised from the cold metal clasping to them like a vice.
She heard the growls, closing her eyes she would let this black death take her. Now...it was her choice, she gave up long ago, nothing to care about anymore, the shots, those echoes, those terrified screams for once can be silenced. Lowering her head she stared at the stones that made this great temple. Death for her had always been welcomed. She had tried many a time to just die, yet nothing seemed to work.
The humans in the room screamed as they were killed one by one blood hitting her face, clothing, hair whatever it could reach. She expected nothing but death, yet the only thing that came was a net whizzing by her head, strong arms lifting her up into a tight gripping hold then carried away. She looked back at the room, sticky red blood seemed to follow from the footsteps that belonged to the behemoth holding her. Another attempt...another failure.