Terracotta

Journey Through Chaos: A Tale of Confrontation and Survival

The isle inside of the parting gave a horizon to the front seats and the driver, the speech was slow and of oblivious subjects. The radio played a beating constant melody; the key over and under such the wheels of the car. I flung my arms to free them, but no resistance came My arm wheeled into the soft tan metal frame and a thousand shadow pains struck my empty wristed hand. The drums of the wheels drove on and on contradicting the length of the prime city scape, The path was straight and uninterrupted as no sirens blared from the noise outside. Springing to my feet would be a poorly chosen idea and the binding of my missing knowledge overcame me, the passenger, not me as I came from an unwilling front, snapped his hand over a motorcycle helmet in the isle of the car as his eyes darted for the first time to the dashboard where strewn were the empty and adjacent checks entrenched within, words of a bank's cursive. I cracked the empty silence with passenger's garish snarl as the bolt of my arms flanked the grey and metal of the seats to their destination, like the head rest's unruly movement I felt the anticipation of his stiffened neck tendons in my grasp, My feet slipped in a grasp but retained my great endeavor, the music in my mind rose and so did the blood from our unmoving legs to the heated expression. With a defiant break of plastic shards came his weapon, the dagger shook from blood loss as its gold came in rush, its leather binging came in a frenzy the partition in the middle: the only scene uncleaned and scarlet. The temple was its bearing as the short death burnt rubber, as did our transport. Him or me while the dagger rose to its task and through the space above my arm splicing the common air, as the evil resides in every person so does the grief of not expecting mercy from an opponent, this mercy seeking was not however from me. The trajectory changed, not from a desired path, but the wrong destination. In the following seconds I took the theatrical fall, and the window took the blow of my head as I swerved out of the way, The arms stayed fixated in the rush of adrenaline bar when the dagger had reached where my head was when my left slammed into the butt of the beveled hilt and through the vent under the headrest a liminal to an infuriating death. His hand buckled and quivered but what was quicker than the shudder and reverberating pain was the floral red soddening of the parched seat, the parchment for a dismal tale, the worst chapter being the lack for lamenting period in the moving automobile.