It’s you or him.
It’s a kill or be killed world.
No matter what, he refuses to talk. I stab him repeatedly, trying to avoid places that I know hold important things. It’s not like I’m a doctor and know where every artery, organ or vein is.
I’m trying to not kill him. As more and more blood flows out of his wounds, I lose myself. The red river of his life force glistens and shines. It’s almost pretty how one liquid can keep any of us alive.
I cut off his earlobe, a finger, even a chunk of skin from his cheek. Losing count of the cuts, stabs and jabs that I’ve inflicted on him. I don’t know who I am right now. Almost like a switch was flipped, and this is a different person moving my limbs.
His screams ring through my ears. They morph into hers. The screams that follow me in my sleep. The ones that ripped her throat apart as she was ripped from me.
Green.
I wonder what’s happening to her.
Is her life like mine?
Games?
Pain?
Killing.
Is she a killer too?
The man's sobs snap me out of it. He refuses to speak. I’m running out of time. I have to do more, but I’m not sure what will work. An idea pops to the front of my mind, and I open his pants, pulling out his cock and balls.
My hand moves of itsown accord, the knife slotting under his sack. “JUST FUCKING TELL ME.” I scream in his face, spit flying from my mouth and landing on his tear stained cheeks.
He pisses himself, warm urine runs down my hand and drips off my wrist. Mixing with theblood that coats my fingers. He is mentally gone. Nothing is going to work.
Am I mentally gone?
Has my mind shattered?
What is wrong with me?
Who am I?
Was I always like this?
Beep.
1 Mississippi.
Breath.
3 Mississippi.
Kill.
5 Mississippi.
Or.
7 Mississippi.
Be killed.
