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Blood

A scene that I really wish I could put into a dystopian book (but writing a book is way harder than I thought).

By Clare StrayerPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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Blood. It’s the first thing I can taste as I slowly fade into consciousness. My tongue feels dry, like a stick of sandpaper stuck to the top of my mouth. I pull my eyes open with difficulty, feeling as if two anvils weighed against my eyelids. The metallic smell of my blood, maybe someone else's blood, I don’t know, fills my nose suddenly, clouding my head and making me gag. Everything is blurry and I can barely see because I am so dizzy. My stomach turns suddenly and I sit up, retching onto the ground, spitting the taste of pennies out of my mouth along with the meager contents of my stomach.

Pain. It sears through my chest like a train, ripping at my lungs and heart. I think I’m gasping, screaming, crying but I can’t hear anything. The world is ringing and everything is still blurred. I vaguely realize that I’m gripping onto the ground with my fingers, the dirt finding its way in under my nails. Black spots begin to dance along my vision line and I’m sputtering and coughing, fighting for a breath to bring me back to life. Just as I know I am about to slip into unconsciousness again I can feel strong hands on my shoulders, shaking the black spots away for a moment.

“Gwen.” It’s Griffin. I can barely make out his face but I realize I’ve never seen him like this before, an expression of pure panic and concern consuming his features. “Gwen baby stay with me.” He’s still shaking me back and forth. “Stay with me damn it!” He huffs as he realizes that I am not with him and my eyes are slowly rolling back into my head. “Damn it.” I hear him swear again and then I suddenly can feel his hands under my legs and on my back, my face pressed against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat now, its tempo wild and inconsistent. I try to say something like I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to get shot, but I don't think my lips are moving and my face feels so numb. He picks me up from the dusty earth and starts running. I try to stay awake as long as I can, my body bumping against his as he jogs through the wasteland that flies past my unfocused eyes. After a few moments of fighting against the heaviness of my eyelids, I finally let the blackness rope me back in, it’s long tendrils wrapping around me, bringing back into its depths.

When I open my eyes again I can only see white. My arms and legs are tangled in sheets so bright they are nearly blinding. I blink against the fluttering curtains that are also white, blowing in the soft, warm wind that is sneaking through the open window. As I take a few breaths and look around, I slowly realize that I am back on the compound, in the recovery room. My fingers inch towards my side where the bullet had pierced me but all I can feel is a slightly raised scar, my skin otherwise untouched. My body feels light and airy and I can’t help but sigh, drinking in the glorious feeling.

“Feels good doesn't it?” A voice says to me. I startle as I realize someone else is in the room with me, lounging on a chair in the corner. The owner of the voice gets up and saunters over to my bed, running a hand through his jet black hair. It was Jax. Heat flashes to my cheeks and I am suddenly so aware of my bare legs and rumbled hair. I clutch the blankets up to my chin, feeling childish but utterly exposed.

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About the Creator

Clare Strayer

I just want to make the world feel something✨ Leave a gift if you like what you feel✨

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