This Doesn’t Have A Name….

This is just a little scene I wrote a while ago. Hope you like it!

The cold steel pressed against my neck and I sucked in my breath, as if somehow that would help.

“Well,” I said, my voice a whisper in the damp cellar, “are you going to kill me?” I searched his face defiantly.  “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” he snarled in a bestial voice, using his elbow to shove me against the damp stone wall. He kept his knife held to my throat, and though his face remained inscrutable, his hand shook slightly.

“Then do it,” I hissed softly, “do it now, while I’m cornered. Do it while you have the chance…………….or are you such a coward that you can’t?”

His normally roguish face looked disconcerted for a minute, then he dug his elbow further into my stomach.

“I’m no coward,” he said, his voice low, barely hiding the anger underneath.

“Really?” I sneered derisively, leaning back from his knife, “I beg to differ. You’re just a coward. A coward who has the audacity to threaten and scare the woman he once loved, but he can’t kill her -”

“SHUT UP!” He roared, enraged, and his knife dug into my throat. I felt several beads of blood drip down my neck. “Inever……loved….you,” he hissed in my face irately.

“That’s a lie,” I breathed, staring into his eyes, “You loved me, and you know you did, even if you’re disgusted by the sight of me now, like I am disgusted by the sight of you.”

“You lie,” he said and made a convulsive movement with the knife, causing more blood to spill.

“Then kill me,” I whispered, keeping my voice empty, trying to withhold the enmity boiling inside me.

Perhaps it was the realization of what he was about to do, or perhaps it was just a moment of pity, but for whatever reason, the vindictive look in his eyes flickered and he lowered the knife a centimeter, hesitating. I seized my chance.

In that one moment, I grabbed his hand holding the knife. He slammed me against the wall, trying to force the knife towards me with his hands. I struggled to push him back, but it was hopeless. The knife slowly neared my face. As I attempted to push away the knife, I saw my abandoned dagger laying on the floor out of the corner of my eye.

I surreptitiously inched my foot towards it, struggling. But it was no use. He had me up against the wall. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I brought my knee up into his crotch. Hard.

“Ah,” He gasped, dropping the knife and sinking to the floor in pain, his eyes protuberant. I jumped over him, grabbed his knife, then snatched up my dagger. For a moment, I kneeled there stoically, breathing hard and staring down at him, laying on the floor in pain.

Then I jumped up, tossed my dagger in the air and caught it ostentatiously, fitting it right back into the holster at my hip. His knife in hand, I rushed over to the cellar door and pulled on the handle. It was locked. I reached for my pocket, where a cache of lock-picking tools were hidden, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him struggling to his feet.

My astute eyes scanned the room and I noticed a window, placed high upon the wall, almost touching the ceiling. Using my little strength left, I ran the length of the room, jumping as hard as I could. I barely grasped the ledge. My fingernails scrabbled at the dirt and stone as I tried to heave myself over the ledge. I could hear his unsteady footsteps stumbling behind me. Panic overcame my body and I pushed myself over with one final heave.

A couple of detrimental kicks and the window was open. It was a small window and my food – deprived, emaciated body just barely fit through.

I stuck my head back in, determined to fit in one last word. He glared up at me, hatred etched in every line of his face.

“You’re lucky I am not a killer,” I said, my voice cold, though I was breathing heavily, “As I’m lucky you’re not either.”

I didn’t wait for my words to sink in. I pulled my head out of the window, and sprinted into the distance, leaving behind only the memory of my enigmatic departure.

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