The following is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class, but never actually turned in. The assignment was to write a descriptive and dark piece that covered only 10 seconds in real time. I’d like some feedback if you’d like to share…
We had nothing to say to each other. I was tied to the rusted yellow chair while he finished digging the hole. He was dirty and smelled like chewing tobacco. I was only wearing my skin. He was wearing a belt with a gun holster. It was occupied.
The desert sky was pitch-black. Not even a star. He looked at me as if he wanted to masticate every inch of my flesh, starting at my thighs where his ravenous eyes were set, and moving upward. He dropped the shovel and knelt to set his chin on my sweating, bare, trembling knee.
Thank God for tiny fingers.
Behind my back, I picked at the thick leather belt—enough that I was able to slip my pinkie finger through the hole of slack I created. A coyote screamed for me somewhere in the distance. I secretly thanked it as I struggled to weave the horseshoe-shaped buckle through another leather loop.
I refused to notice the drool hanging off the corner of his lips. The quick, excited puffs of carbon dioxide mixed with nicotine and formaldehyde coming from his mouth. I refused to acknowledge the fact that he dug a hole six feet deep, one foot to my left. I refused to accept the sandy, dark abyss that anchored me to my looming demise.
I tugged the horseshoe through the final helix of his makeshift trap. Just that same moment, a sensation I’ve never experienced traveled up my inner thigh. Warm, wet. It nearly reached where I prayed it wouldn’t. I tensed my leg muscles. Deep breath. Suddenly, my aching, bleeding murder utensils deployed from behind the chair—dirty golden horseshoe in hand—as I delivered four day’s worth of fury and rage into the hollow of his cheek.
He stumbled to his feet. I started running.
It didn’t take long for him to put a bullet in me. I collapsed near a cactus. Gasped for the dusty air that arose with my falling. He slung me up over his shoulder, then tossed my weak, dehydrated body into the chamber in which I was to breathe my last pitiful breath.
As I struggled for oxygen, I could hear tiny crumbles of dirt falling around me. Soon enough, I felt pounds of it weighing down my stomach, my legs, my arms. And then it was dark.