Don't Wake Up by Haley Dionne

Runner Up, 6-9 Grade Fiction

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

I stopped counting a long time ago.

I press my clammy palm once again to the cold steel floor. Everything is cold here. My back still beats with pain so absurd it feels like claws are digging into it. I haven't moved since I placed myself into a sitting poison just underneath the window here.

One window. Four tiny slivers of light. One floor. Four walls. One- Wait. There's no door.

There's zero fucking doors.

I guess I shouldn't have expected that. I mean, I'm in a prison. At least I think so.

I focus my attention back to my hand. I trace my fingers on the floor. Two hands, ten fingers.

A sigh escapes my lips and it's the first sound I've made after they threw my bloodied self in here. My throat feels like sandpaper; my lips feel like shattered glass; and my whole body feels like it's taking a bath in a volcano.

How refreshing.

I rest my head on the wall, look up at the light coming in from the window and wonder for a second if it's artificial. I try to stand and immediately regret it. I wince in pain as I sit back down. Sigh once more when I lean my head against the freezing metal.

I fucking hate this place.

A rattle shakes the wall just across from me, making it vibrate violently, and I force my battered body to stand, almost cracking my head open in the process.

I need to stay alert. The wall soon parts in the middle, opening up into more darkness. So, one door. Invisible, but still a door.

Something whizzes past my head and I duck, just barely missing it. The glass window shatters behind me and with as much strength I can manage, I roll out of the way of falling shards of glass. Force myself to stand again. Examine the window. Still four slivers; the light never increased or decreased. It's artificial.

We must be underground.

"You're a smart one," a cold voice like a sharp blade shatters the silence. "Grab her."

Guess I'll take the first statement as a compliment. The second one, not so much.

I start to back up against the wall as two people grab my arms. They look strong, I'll give them that, but they are awful at keeping a good grip. My body suddenly remembers it's in pain and I wish it would forget again, just so I can make it through this.

White spots corrupt my vision and I finally decide to make a move. I thrash my legs out, throwing these armed idiots into the wall. As they make their fall, I roll forward, snatching a gun in the process with such force my finger nails start to bleed. I ignore that.

I heave my body upright, standing, as I point a gun in their direction and watch them struggle to stand.

"Watch yourself," I say. Suddenly I realize that's the first two words that came out of my mouth in what feels like a lifetime. I still can't remember when I was thrown in here, and I don't know today's date.

I point the gun at the two men, trying to steady my arm that I only now realize is shaking violently. If these men start to throw punches, I'll lose immediately. I'm in no condition to fight. My body feels like it's being boiled alive and my head pounds back and forth like anvils falling from the sky. White spots cloud my vision again as I point the gun, feeling blood trickle down my hand and onto the floor.

I need to remain strong. I need to make it seem like I'm not in as much pain as I'm in. I need-

A rough hand grips the right side of my waist, pulling me forcefully up against their chest. The gun I'm holding clatters to the ground, flying from my hand. I grunt. Try to free myself.

I grunt again. Thrash. To no avail. This motherfucker's grip is too strong.

"You first, sweetheart." There's that voice again. Sharp as a blade. Just a whisper against my ear.

I feel something cold press up against the side of my neck, and suddenly, all I see is black.