The World Upside Down
A pair of bruised legs shook vigorously in the air, occasionally hitting the bottom of a bulletproof vest. An unruly dark mess of long hair momentarily covered her eyes with each step the man took, only to reveal a vision of the slippery, moss-covered rocks beneath. A chilly breath of morning air hit the back of her neck as the man ran a hand through her thighs.
Who was he? And where was he carrying her on his shoulder? She didn't know. Too afraid to ask and too afraid to be told. All she knew that morning was waking up from a restless dream and seeing a group of heavily armed soldiers outside her cabin.
Her eyes sleep dazed and her white gown offering a glimpse of her right breasts with one strap down, she didn't even have the time to feel embarrassed when a man in a steel mask pointed towards her with his head, pointedly looking at a slender man on his right. The next thing she knew, her world was upside down.
Her head shook like a bobblehead. Her lungs burned with the sharp coldness of the morning air swept in her direction from the snowy mountain tops of Prague.
She longingly thought of her beloved blanket that she threw over her shoulders when she left the bed. She tried holding onto it, her nails pulling out strings of the blue cotton while the slender man rushed in to sweep her off her feet, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The blanket met the damp forest ground as his long legs gained speed and she lost track of which part of the forest they were in, watching the blue pieces of the fabric under her nails. Her eyes required a bit more effort to open back up every time she blinked and blood rushed down to her face as her human carriage sprinted through the forest.
In order to get a good look at the man, as well as to distract herself from the swiftly approaching cloud of unconsciousness, she turned her head to the right.
He was tall, with dark hair and a hint of light brown stubble. Craning her neck, she saw what she previously thought was a walking stick. A rifle. Almost as tall as him as he used it to support his steps and balance her weight on his left shoulder.
It was a miracle that he never slipped or lost his balance despite the constant shaking and kicking of her legs. She was almost sure he enjoyed it, feeling her struggle aimlessly like a beetle on its back.
Another stroke of his thumb against her thigh sent a sharp bolt of terror to her brain making her go limp with horror. The man stopped in his tracks, his hands shaking as he felt his way up from her thighs to her waist while not forgetting to spend a bit more time on her ass. He wrapped an arm around her and lowered her to her feet as she dig her nails onto his surprisingly ample biceps.
He smiled hazily when he realized she was still conscious, offering her the first proper chance to see him in detail. His messy brunette hair and sleepy blue eyes fought for attention, a fight easily won a mere second later by his growing smirk.
Weren't terrorists supposed to be ugly, scary, terrifying men? Something about the spark of mischief in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. Not the kind of chill she expected, no not from fear, but from the unexplainable depth of the brightness of his gaze.
He shifted the rifle ever so casually as he held her up with an arm wrapped around her waist.
His lazy grin grew broader by the second but somehow harder for her to see as everything drowned in a haze of impenetrable darkness...