lovely bones , twd

ghost of charles bennett

ghost of charles bennett

You know that saying, 'I'm stuck between life and death.'

Yeah, well in the moment, that saying was currently a reality.

Prim was quite literally stuck between life and death. Between a rock and a hard place.

The rock being the dumpster she was hiding behind and the hard place marking the wall in which her back had been so very painfully pressed against. Everything that made up the entirety of her small frame fell into a trembling mess. Her body shook. Her veins constricted. Her head pounded and her heart felt impossibly tight, at the brink of exploding as she was currently drowning in complete and utter fear.

She was going to die.

She felt it with every piece of her.

She knew it more than she's ever known anything.

This was going to be the end of Primrose Bennett.

She was too exhausted to keep fighting. The feeling of determination evaporated from her pores and sept through her nostrils and whispered past her ears. It wasn't a pretty picture yet neither was this.

Death wasn't pretty, she was able to tell you that up front from experience. It wasn't new, nor was it something that stopped people in their tracks with their feet frozen in the pavement. Not anymore, at least, It wasn't pretty and it wasn't rare, but it didn't feel very good being the one it held by the throat. It hurt to accept the fact that she was the one who would lose her life today, even more painful than the actual dying part.

She was so scared.

Primrose couldn't remember the last time she had truly been terrified for her life, if we didn't count every second of every day she continued breathing, of course. At this point, fear had become an instinct. It was all that they knew now, and they couldn't survive without it. Fear controlled people, it was people. It was a second skin and at the moment, hers had been slowly and painfully peeling off to expose her pulsing flesh that hid beneath the vulnerable terror.

She was barely fifteen years old. She was a little girl who has been put through hell and back more times than she could truly count. Dragged by the dead ends of her untamed hair, pulled at the feet of the messenger of death, back and forth through the blood that stained her once pale skin. She was a living, breathing rag doll and she feared it was the only thing that kept her alive.

The entire world was against her, pinning her over the edge and she couldn't even find the strength to cry at the pain. She couldn't beg for help nor reach out to someone because in this moment, she had no one. Everyone had disappeared and she couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't make a sound because if she did, she would die.

She was going to die either way, but she would rather save a few more seconds to hate herself than to actually be torn to pieces.

Prim was dead silent. It may have not felt like it to her of course. Her ears were muffled with the sounds of her heartbeat abusing her chest and she tried to listen to the torturous pounding of the very thing that drove her insane. She tried not to make a single noise, but it was only a matter of time before the dead ones could hear her pulse as it grew louder by the beat.