Fighting the Losing Battle

Chapter 2 - Blood and Lifelong Regrets

Hi! I'm back with chapter 2, afraid it isn't very long again but I will try to update with another chapter soon. I am thinking of writing this story from two perspectives - you have already met Kira, and my other main character, Lukas, is introduced in this chapter. Any opinions on this format? Does it work? I thought that, for what I have planned, it will probably be easier to tell the story from both sides.

Also, I know a lot of people make cast lists for their stories, but I prefer to picture the characters from their written descriptions, so I wasn't planning on making one. However, if any of you have any ideas for a cast, particularly as the story and the characters develop more, please comment - I would love to hear your ideas. Haven't really had any feedback on my story so far - how is it going? Is it interesting enough? Is it easy to follow, or is it too confusing? Do you like the characters? As always, any critique/opinions are welcome! Unedited - Will be edited later (may contain spelling/grammatical mistakes)

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Kira POV

The glass shatters under the impact, showering me in hundreds of tiny, needle-sharp crystals. I know that, if I want to escape, I can't waste time. The window frame is small, only just big enough for my petite figure to squeeze through. I wrap one hand tightly around the window frame. Too tightly. I inhale sharply, as pain stabs my palm. I curl my hand into a fist instinctively, but regret it instantly when the pain becomes sharper. A few drops of blood trickle from my closed fist, down my arm. I uncurl my fist, wanting to check the damage, but also constantly aware that, despite the pain, I must keep moving. My palm is sticky with blood, which is oozing from a gash – a gash which stretches across the entirety of my palm and, although I have no medical training, looks as though it must be deep. Very deep. It hurts like hell. I've never been great with blood and gore. Ironic, really, when you think that I see an awful lot more of it that most people ever would.

I pause, knowing that the wound will become infected if it is not treated. I don't have the time or the supplies to treat a wound such as this. I have to leave. I can hear the voices getting closer. I can feel myself starting to panic, and take a deep, but shaky, breath. I can't afford to panic, not now. I scan the room, but can't see anything that I could use to cover the wound quickly. I sigh – I had hoped it would not come to this. Oh well, needs must. I hold tightly to my t-shirt with my uninjured hand, and tug. Feeling the stitches begin to stretch and rip, I pull harder, relieved to feel the fabric tear away from the rest of the shirt. I wrap my hand in the fabric strip, covering the wound and knotting it tightly to slow the bleeding. That will have to do. Time to go.

I step back to the window and glance round the wooden frame which, thanks to me, no longer holds any glass. Except for several razor-like shards. Embedded deep into the wood, they clearly were unaffected by my powerful kick to the glass panel. They are way too small and sharp for me to try to remove them – I would be lucky to escape with my fingers intact. The window is a potential death trap. I turn. By now, they will be too close for me to use the doors; the doors are too obvious for an escape route. They will be covering all of the exits, or at least all of the exits that they can think of. All I can hope is that they would never suspect a tiny window on the top floor, around the back of a three-storey, abandoned house. It's the only thing I can think of, my only chance. My only exit is the window, the window that I know will cause me incredible pain, should I even survive the drop. It's an impossible choice: face capture by the Equos Venaticus, who are renowned for having eliminated the rest of my people and who will most likely delight in killing me too; or willingly throw myself out of a window, three storeys above the ground, while almost certainly shredding myself to pieces with glass knives. An impossible choice, indeed. Hmmmm...what to do, what to do...