literature

Last Legs - She

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Literature Text

In a sack by the side of the rail-way tracks, a dark stain in the bag's material. Curled and folded she lay quiet and still amongst the brambles and nettles. She didn't shiver.
But she wasn't dead yet. She was still dying.
Key difference.
She'd felt her heartbeat slow gradually over the time she had been in the sack. How long had that been? She didn't know. Time had blurred a long time ago. Times when her heart was beating fast and when her heart was beating slow, that was the only time she knew. She closed her eyes and clung to her final experience of senses. The rustling of the wind outside her cocoon, the creatures. She could hear trains far away. She heard a bird scream.
She heard the blood crawling through her veins. Last legs.
Felt the cold. Felt the plastic digging into her wrists and ankles. It hurt. Not much. She felt her hair tickling her chin.
Opening her eyes she forgot to blink. She stared steady at the dim grey light that kept her company. She could feel a moistness. The blood or the grass.
She couldn't feel the wound. Just a big empty space. Cuts and bruises were too cold to feel. But a faint twinge in her neck that she determinedly ignored.
She remembered her old home, with him, her torturer, and her heart beat faster. The effort made her close her eyes again. Breathing shallowly she felt her body strain, begging her to move. She wouldn't. She'd learnt.
A train rumbled by and it hurt her eyes, then became faded, like there was a bubble between her and it. Everything became more faded.
Her skin started to burn and tingle. She could hear footsteps near her, coming closer. Still faded though. Behind a screen between her and reality. Somewhere outside her sack.
She heard a steady breathing. Felt herself picked up and thrown around. It made everything harder. Her limbs felt stiff, like ice, and it was agony. Her wrists and ankles suddenly screamed at her.
Jostling around in the sack she bit down on her tongue. Whereas her breathing quickened, and her heart pounded in leaps and bounds, her carrier never broke stride, never changed pace, breathed with ease.
Then she was put down, gently, though she still gasped. She gave in and wriggled, straining against her bondage. As she moved her stomach she strained not to groan. She felt the sticky wetness that she knew was red. The rest of her, purple, thumped and throbbed. Every part of her body tingled, too sensitive now to the sack's rough material.
She felt herself lifted again, and this time felt herself groan. She was dropped and was weightless for seconds, then landed hard on the ground. She screamed. She got lightheaded and everything was faded again. She blinked blearily and struggled to regain her breath.
She felt a scraping and a weigh falling on her.
With every scrape and weigh she felt everything fade further and further away. She felt less pain. A vague panic tapped her tentatively in the back of her fogged mind. It became fainter as breathing became harder. She wriggled but she could barely feel her body now.
It got darker. Soon she could only hear herself, her breathing, her blood, her heart. She could feel the cold.
She could feel the escalating weight. She clenched and unclenched her numb hands.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember her name.
i wrote this a while back, it's nothing much
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Otseis-Ragnarok's avatar
A lot of detail, but somehow detached.