julesofthe7seas
Jules
Hi! I was hoping some of the avid readers here would read this short chapter and tell me what they think. Would you read the book? Is it garbage? Just looking for honest feedback. Don't know where else to ask, I despise social media, this is the only forum I go to. Please be honest, I don't want to hear kind and empty words, I could get that from people in real life.
The Bride of Molech
Prologue
1996
Hurts. Everywhere hurts. Hurts to breathe, hurts so fucking bad, breathing razor blades. Oh, God. Hurt.
My thoughts are dragging me back from the fog of unconsciousness, slowly. I almost slide back into the darkness of sleep, but a new, persistent thought pulls me forcefully awake.
Gotta pee, gotta pee so bad it hurts. Everything hurts, can’t breathe. Head hurts, face hurts, air hurts. Gotta get up and pee or I’ll piss myself. Can’t pee my pants. Wake up, go pee. Can’t breathe, can’t move. Hurts too bad.
I raise my head a few inches and lightening bolts of pain shoot around my skull, down my body. Dizziness and nausea crash through me like thunder, my body goes limp and my head crashes back to the ground.
The bright flashes of pain recede, restoring the dull roar of agony that initially ushered me into wakefulness. Lifting my head and shoulders just slightly and ever so slowly, I tilt my head so I can unplant my face from the damp crumbly debris beneath me.
Instinctively, I flex my fingers and hands, followed by toes and feet, grateful and relieved to have at least partial function in my limbs. As I struggle to pull my arms to my sides, I drag my hands over the soft, loose, damp floor beneath me. Dirt. I’m laying facedown in dirt. Not a layer of dirt, but the rich, earthy soil of the ground. But I am not outside, the air is too still and musty, too stale and stagnant. But there’s no time to process any of this, I have to pee now, or I’m gonna pee my pants.
I manage to drag-crawl-inchworm a few feet, towards what I guessed would be the corner, to the right of where my feet had been upon waking. My injuries are worse than I imagined, and I struggled to pull myself into a squatting position. Finally I was able to pee, which was as painful as it was a relief. I noticed that the fabric of my panties was stiff and rough, and I inspected the seat of my jeans to confirm my awful suspicions – I had pissed myself already. My clothes were completely dry now. And somehow this realization struck a chord of terror in me far beyond reason.
How long does THAT take? How long have I been here? My thoughts raced against my pulse, each relentless in pursuit of the lead. I wrestled my jeans back on, scooting on my knees to the other side pf the tiny, pitch black basement room. My eyes were as adjusted as they were going to get now. The walls were rough brick, the room was about 6ftx7ft, but the ceiling looked really high.
What the fuck is this? Am I gonna die? Can I find a way out?
There was a small window way up on the wall. It looked so high that even if I could stand up, I’d never reach it. I cant tell where the door is, it’s too dark. It’s the middle of the night, I can tell by the window. The window has no glass, I can hear and smell the night; only the faintest shadow of light creeps through the opening and into my living Hell.
Where the fuck am I? I’m in a fucking cellar, a dirt-floored basement! Basement…basement…I was in the basement of the white house---OH GOD NO!
Panic wrapped it’s long, bony fingers around me tightly, as Memory rushed me, piercing it’s claws deep into the fragile remnants of my sanity. And I knew. I knew where I was, and why. I fell to the dirt and wept.
They got me, they caught me and pried my hand open, found the finger I pulled off the girl in the shallow grave, the finger I dug up as proof, so the FBI would have to come and did up the mass grave. Cuz no one would ever believe me. Fuck!! Why did I do this? Why didn't I STOP?!? I can't die like this! Jesus, please!
I sobbed and wailed and hyperventilated, unable to inhale more than the shallowest of breaths, restricted by the sharp, jagged points of broken ribs.
Two fucking blocks, that's how close I was! Sooo close! And now I'm going to die like that, in those woods, oh GOD! WHY? Why did I have to be the fucking hero? I'm not a hero. I'm nobody. Now I'm a sacrifice.
My tears were short and sweet; within minutes of collapsing into the throes of dark despair, I fell into a deep and merciful unconsciousness.
The Bride of Molech
Prologue
1996
Hurts. Everywhere hurts. Hurts to breathe, hurts so fucking bad, breathing razor blades. Oh, God. Hurt.
My thoughts are dragging me back from the fog of unconsciousness, slowly. I almost slide back into the darkness of sleep, but a new, persistent thought pulls me forcefully awake.
Gotta pee, gotta pee so bad it hurts. Everything hurts, can’t breathe. Head hurts, face hurts, air hurts. Gotta get up and pee or I’ll piss myself. Can’t pee my pants. Wake up, go pee. Can’t breathe, can’t move. Hurts too bad.
I raise my head a few inches and lightening bolts of pain shoot around my skull, down my body. Dizziness and nausea crash through me like thunder, my body goes limp and my head crashes back to the ground.
The bright flashes of pain recede, restoring the dull roar of agony that initially ushered me into wakefulness. Lifting my head and shoulders just slightly and ever so slowly, I tilt my head so I can unplant my face from the damp crumbly debris beneath me.
Instinctively, I flex my fingers and hands, followed by toes and feet, grateful and relieved to have at least partial function in my limbs. As I struggle to pull my arms to my sides, I drag my hands over the soft, loose, damp floor beneath me. Dirt. I’m laying facedown in dirt. Not a layer of dirt, but the rich, earthy soil of the ground. But I am not outside, the air is too still and musty, too stale and stagnant. But there’s no time to process any of this, I have to pee now, or I’m gonna pee my pants.
I manage to drag-crawl-inchworm a few feet, towards what I guessed would be the corner, to the right of where my feet had been upon waking. My injuries are worse than I imagined, and I struggled to pull myself into a squatting position. Finally I was able to pee, which was as painful as it was a relief. I noticed that the fabric of my panties was stiff and rough, and I inspected the seat of my jeans to confirm my awful suspicions – I had pissed myself already. My clothes were completely dry now. And somehow this realization struck a chord of terror in me far beyond reason.
How long does THAT take? How long have I been here? My thoughts raced against my pulse, each relentless in pursuit of the lead. I wrestled my jeans back on, scooting on my knees to the other side pf the tiny, pitch black basement room. My eyes were as adjusted as they were going to get now. The walls were rough brick, the room was about 6ftx7ft, but the ceiling looked really high.
What the fuck is this? Am I gonna die? Can I find a way out?
There was a small window way up on the wall. It looked so high that even if I could stand up, I’d never reach it. I cant tell where the door is, it’s too dark. It’s the middle of the night, I can tell by the window. The window has no glass, I can hear and smell the night; only the faintest shadow of light creeps through the opening and into my living Hell.
Where the fuck am I? I’m in a fucking cellar, a dirt-floored basement! Basement…basement…I was in the basement of the white house---OH GOD NO!
Panic wrapped it’s long, bony fingers around me tightly, as Memory rushed me, piercing it’s claws deep into the fragile remnants of my sanity. And I knew. I knew where I was, and why. I fell to the dirt and wept.
They got me, they caught me and pried my hand open, found the finger I pulled off the girl in the shallow grave, the finger I dug up as proof, so the FBI would have to come and did up the mass grave. Cuz no one would ever believe me. Fuck!! Why did I do this? Why didn't I STOP?!? I can't die like this! Jesus, please!
I sobbed and wailed and hyperventilated, unable to inhale more than the shallowest of breaths, restricted by the sharp, jagged points of broken ribs.
Two fucking blocks, that's how close I was! Sooo close! And now I'm going to die like that, in those woods, oh GOD! WHY? Why did I have to be the fucking hero? I'm not a hero. I'm nobody. Now I'm a sacrifice.
My tears were short and sweet; within minutes of collapsing into the throes of dark despair, I fell into a deep and merciful unconsciousness.
