Hey everyone,

This story is based on an instagram prompt I saw yesterday.

The account is called "authorinmyhead" and the prompt (originally by "one-lonely-whumperfly" on twitter) was posted on 14 Juli.

It wouldn't get out of my head so I decided to write it down. I was going to make it into a one-shot, but while writing I already started getting some ideas for what could happen next, so I'm not sure what i'm gonna do

Clary was leaning against a dirty dark brown brick wall in a back alley. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to push away the fear that was slowly creeping in her body. She tried to assess her situation as she had learned years ago, a trick she always used in difficult times to regain control over the situation. These were the facts. One: she was alone, with no way of contacting anyone in The Circle as she didn't know how deep the corruption had spread its tentacles. Two: she had been awake for around 42 hours (she estimated it was around 3 in the morning) and had experienced not only a raid on her apartment, an ambush at work, 2 shootings (one by people who are supposed to be "her own people") a car accident and finally a knife fight. Three: Granted she was happy that she hadn't died yet, she feared it would happen soon if she didn't find medical attention within about 20 minutes. She took another deep breath as she tried to focus her mind. "Solve problem by problem" she heard her mentor say in her mind, and as always that voice gave her back some of her composure.

Theoretically speaking, problem one was simple: avoid contact with anyone of The Circle as long as she had no new information. This was harder in practice, since she did not know all the members of The Circle, as secrecy was one of the ground rules of the organisation. Which meant every human being was a possible threat. Great.

Problem two was easier: she had been awake to long which meant she had to sleep for a few hours. Based on experience, she estimated that 3 hours would be enough to regain her ability to focus her mind and plan her next move. But she could only do that if she managed to stay alive in the next 20 minutes, which brought her back to problem 3.

Problem three: her body was covered with injuries that were dated from the last 42 hours. Most things were manageable: bruises, superficial cuts, maybe some broken ribs, … The thing that worried her was the stab wound right under her left rib. Considering the length of the knife and the entering point, she was pretty sure her spleen hadn't been damaged, making her initially assume that she would be alright with a bandage and some stitches. She had fabricated a self-made bandage after the fight, planning to stitch herself up when she had found a safe place to lay low for a couple of hours. Not sure what her next move would be, she had decided to get away as far as she could from her last encounter with The Circle while thinking out a plan. The wound fluid that had started to seep through the bandage gradually for the last 15 minutes, combined with the stinging pain at her left side had put a stop to that plan. That was why she was currently standing in a back alley, freaking out despite all the training she had had in the last 14 years. The stinging pain and the dark wound fluid made her think the blade had been coated in some sort of poison. Most poisons that were used for coating a blade were deadly in under an hour, depending of the poison. Which meant she still had roughly 20 minutes. At best. She took a few breaths as reality sank in.

"You have no choice Clarissa Fray" she spoke sternly to herself. "You are not gonna die in a back alley after all you have been through." She closed her eyes, pushed every thought aside as she had learnt from her training with The Circle" and searched her mind for anyone who would have enough knowledge about deadly poisonous stab wounds. Hospitals were out of question: too much chance to encounter a member of The Circle. Only one name came up and she needed another 3 breaths to make peace with herself about that. He was her only option, which meant she would have to place her life in the hands of the person who had tried to kill her numerous times and who had almost succeeded 7 months ago.

Someone had been ringing his doorbell continuously for the last minute, making him eventually get up out of bed in a murderous mood. If this person had no good reason for waking him up at … – he quickly threw a glance on the clock – … 3.24 in the morning, the fine city of New York was going to have one less citizen in the morning. He opened the door, his hand hiddenly holding a knife (much faster in a one-on-one combat than a gun, even though he usually preferred guns).

Jonathan Christopher Wayland prided himself on being a man who was not caught off guard very easily. But on that cold October night at 3.25 in the morning he was dumbfounded for at least 3 seconds, before he reached out to catch the girl who was staggering and stumbling her way up the stair in front of his house. "I… no time… poison" Clarissa Fairchild muttered under her breath as he pulled her inside and closed the door. He tried to get her to the living room, so she could sit and tell him what on earth she was doing here. But before he could do that, she turned her head up to look at him: "I'm sorry, I had nowhere else to go" she brought out, before passing out in his arms in the middle of his hallway.

Soooooooooo, that's it for right now. I know I haven't been active for quite a while, but I still have 2 months of holidays left and I missed writing so much, so I wanted to ask you a question...

- Do you want me to write more short stories like these?

- Do you want me to turn this into a real -short or long- story?

- Do you want me to write only a few more chapters on this subject with focus on some fluff?

Let me know, I missed you.

xoxo N.