Word Count: 316
Rating: K
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): ...
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): ...vaguely implied death?
Summary: It's time to move on. Quickly.
Sentence: If I fall through to the floor below and break my legs, I could die in this house, alone. (The Priest's Graveyard by Ted Dekker)
Sentence included? Y/N: N
They were in the house. He still hadn’t come – would never come home now because they were in the house. He was gone. I would break down about that later, properly this time. If there was a later.
I can hear them, their boots on the hardwood floor, stomping. They’re so loud.
Do they know I’m here? Do they care that I know that they’re here?
It doesn’t matter. If they find me, they’ll kill me.
Do I care? Does it matter if I’m dead, if they already killed him?
My heart almost stopped. Something shattered downstairs – dishes or that horrible, ugly vase his mother gave us – and one of them cursed, and I suddenly decide, yes; it does matter. If they find me, they’ll break me apart just like the vase, pieces of me all over the floor.
Now I just need to find a way out before they find me and rip me open with knives or shoot me dead.
I crawl across the floor, because I think I’m quieter that way. My breathing is suddenly loud to me, and I force myself to breathe through my nose. My hands shoot out and fumble for the door knob. I get it after the third try and ease the door open, holding my breath.
The noise is quieter, like they’re not in a main room. I crawl toward the banister and peek down. There is light shining out of his office.
I am enraged. How dare they. They broke into my home, broke the ugly vase that I have kept solely to appease my mother-in-law, and are tearing through my husband’s office. As if we’ve done something wrong. Like we’re the criminals. We’re not.
At least, I’m not.
I want them gone. I want them out. I want them dead.
I can’t do that now though. Right now, I need to focus on not dying.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-15 04:35 am (UTC)From: