Authors: Thomas Laird
Whe
n
it’
s
almos
t
ove
r,I
reac
h
t
o
he
r
throa
t
an
d
I
squeez
e.
Sh
e
doesn’
t
lik
e
thi
s
pla
y.
Nearl
y
chokin
g
doesn’
t
ge
t
he
r
of
f,
an
d
sh
e
know
s
tha
t
I
kno
w
i
t
.
He
r
eye
s
plea
d
wit
h
m
e
a
s
sh
e
reache
s
th
e
envelop
e
o
f
consciousnes
s.
I’
m
lungin
g
a
t
he
r,
an
d
i
n
spit
e
o
f
th
e
fac
t
tha
t
she’
s
runnin
g
ou
t
o
f
ai
r,
she’
s
stil
l
pumpin
g
har
d
a
t
m
e.
Whe
n
sh
e
finall
y
begin
s
t
o
g
o
ou
t,I
releas
e
he
r
throa
t.
Sh
e
take
s
a
n
exaggerate
d
pul
l
a
t
th
e
ai
r
sh
e
wa
s
bein
g
denie
d,
an
d
the
n
th
e
colo
r
start
s
t
o
retur
n
t
o
he
r
cheek
s
.
‘
Wh
y
..
.
wh
y
d
o
yo
u
insis
t
o
n
doin
g
tha
t?
Isn’
t
i
t
goo
d
enoug
h
withou
t
al
l
tha
t?’
sh
e
gasp
s
.
‘
I
can’
t
ge
t
har
d
unles
s
I
hur
t
yo
u,’
I
tel
l
he
r
.
Somethin
g
resemblin
g
shoc
k
crosse
s
he
r
bruise
d
an
d
bleedin
g
fac
e.I
loo
k
dow
n
a
t
he
r
thigh
s
an
d
I
se
e
th
e
bloom
s
o
f
bloo
d
o
n
he
r
bitte
n
leg
s
.
I
ben
d
dow
n
agai
n
an
d
bit
e
he
r
nea
r
on
e
o
f
he
r
ope
n
wound
s.
Sh
e
tear
s
a
t
m
y
hai
r
an
d
scream
s.
Whe
n
sh
e
nearl
y
yank
s
m
y
scal
p
of
f,I
jer
k
u
p
an
d
nai
l
he
r
twic
e
wit
h
tw
o
mor
e
right
s.
Thi
s
tim
e
tw
o
teet
h
com
e
loos
e
.
Sh
e
claw
s
a
t
m
e
agai
n,
eve
n
thoug
h
she’
s
almos
t
gon
e
t
o
blac
k.
She’
s
viciou
s
an
d
indomitabl
e.
She’l
l
tak
e
nothin
g
fro
m
anyon
e,
mal
e
o
r
femal
e.
Elle
n
say
s
it’
s
ho
w
sh
e
survive
d
he
r
famil
y
an
d
th
e
thing
s
tha
t
Joh
n
Fortun
a
di
d
t
o
he
r
whe
n
sh
e
wa
s
a
youn
g
teenage
r
.
I
knee
l
dow
n
an
d
bit
e
he
r
repeatedl
y.
Sh
e
yip
s
lik
e
a
bitc
h
who’
s
bein
g
harasse
d
b
y
a
mal
e
i
n
hea
t.I
hav
e
he
r
bloo
d
al
l
ove
r
m
y
lip
s,
m
y
fac
e.I
pres
s
m
y
nos
e
an
d
eye
s
int
o
he
r
wound
s
a
s
i
f
he
r
bloo
d
i
s
bal
m
.
The
n
I
ris
e.
He
r
eye
s
ope
n
a
s
I
stan
d
erec
t.I
g
o
t
o
th
e
close
t
an
d
ge
t
th
e
knif
e
ou
t
o
f
m
y
ba
g.
I
t
i
s
a
t
thi
s
momen
t
tha
t
sh
e
know
s
thi
s
ha
s
no
t
bee
n
som
e
pervers
e
danc
e.
Sh
e
know
s
she’
s
goin
g
t
o
di
e.
Sh
e
know
s
I’
m
goin
g
t
o
cu
t
he
r
.
I
tak
e
he
r
hai
r
an
d
I
pul
l
he
r
fac
e
u
p
a
t
m
e.
The
n
I
cu
t
he
r
throa
t.
Bu
t
I
mis
s
th
e
jugula
r
purposel
y.
Sh
e
bleed
s
onl
y
lightl
y.I
tak
e
hol
d
o
f
he
r
lef
t
eyeli
d
an
d
I
slic
e
i
t
awa
y
fro
m
he
r
.
I
loo
k
dow
n
a
t
he
r
destroye
d
fac
e,
a
t
he
r
gor
y
leg
s.I
wan
t
he
r
t
o
se
e
hersel
f
whil
e
sh
e
stil
l
ca
n.
Al
l
tha
t
nois
e
comin
g
fro
m
he
r
ha
s
decrease
d
t
o
moanin
g.
Whe
n
sh
e
look
s
i
n
th
e
livin
g-
roo
m
mirro
r,
an
d
see
s
wha
t
I’v
e
don
e,I
hur
l
he
r
t
o
th
e
floo
r.
Sh
e
begin
s
t
o
be
g.
It’
s
th
e
firs
t
tim
e
she’
s
eve
r
bee
n
reduce
d
t
o
beggin
g.
She’
s
Joh
n
Fortuna’
s
siste
r.
Nobod
y
bring
s
he
r
famil
y
t
o
it
s
knee
s,
literall
y
o
r
figurativel
y
.