Capturing Bambi

Prologue

Life is worth 50 bucks.

Life is worth 50 bucks.

I chanted in my head, like a forsaken spell that had been bestowed upon me by the ancient witches themselves.

Something about the blaze ignited a foreign sort of sentiment in me. An urge to break free from the cloak of lucidity and slither out from my own skin. To forsake it for an emotion so novel, I wouldn't have to feel this way again.

Broken yet put, withering away yet glistening back to the serpents, inanimate yet painfully happening. All at the very same time.

I loathed myself for the emotions I showed, and for the ones that I kept captive in my own penitentiary. I could see the rusty bars, as I constrained the impulse to shatter unrestricted.

So when death arrives, the urge to break free is at its peak.

If I go down, I don't go down as me. I'd rather drown as the blaze within, and go down as something I've always wanted to be.

But now is not the time.

I'll touch the gates of hell and back I shall be. With a little nudge from my throat, I discover the lost voice.

" Good evening, gentleman. I'll attend your table for the night. " I speak out, my voice is monotone. Not giving much.

I hold onto my fright, refusing to let it out and coating it with a glimmer of adeptness. Putting on the immaculate smile, like an actor on the big screen.

" Have you guys decided? " I pique my question. The sooner I'm done with their order, the better for me.

My stance is clear, get their order, serve their fare , and voila. Bid them bye. With 50 dollars in my hand. Easy money, right?

Just then, an apprehensive sensation anchors in my heart. There is a reason people recoil from this. It's not the act of attending, but the individuals you find yourself attending to.

Their dangerous men, involved in the most heinous of crimes. Except, they don't get jailed for it.

Trepidation is an emotional enigma when you encounter yourself as the sole jailor, jury ,and judge, all at the very same time.

But that is not my case, hence my hands slightly shiver under their intense gaze. An eerie-like silence clouds the atmosphere, filling up the hollow expanse, presiding for the lack of human company. Soon enough, I hear the chittar- chatter shattering the solace of the stillness. The hushed environment speaks a thousand words, and I can sense the peril.

Out of the three men dressed in formal suits. The one with those ocean eyes, he makes me latch onto dear life. Because if I don't, I might just lose it somewhere in the depth of his irises. While the other one, makes me leap for the door.

A man in his late fifties eyes me with a feverish smile. One look and I'm well aware of the impurity seeping out. His gaze makes me want to claw out my own skin. And like innumerable times, I can't help but wish with all my heart for this mini skirt to be a tad bit elongated.

His eyes are on my skin, and my skin is in the furnace. With the devil, eyeing us both.

And with a little ignition, I know I'll be on fire tonight.

Click.

My trail of thoughts is ruptured by the rash motion. My vision diverts from the fat pig to the intricate patterns on the lighter, all blending to form a dark green dragon head, flinging inferno from its threshold.

The man that came across as imperceptible now carries the notion, all eyes on him, including mine. With ease, he lights up his cigar as his gaze finally lands up on my frame.