Havoc

Chapter Nine

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend, till you break
Cause it’s all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad you get strong
Wipe your hands shake it off
Then you Stand, Then you stand

-Rascal Flatts, Stand

Chapter 9

Down south in the Boondocks

My eyes flew open and my throat released a harsh gasp. I choked and coughed, acting like someone who has been denied the right to breathe. My eyes were unfocused, but I didn’t care at the moment. I didn’t care that a searing pain pulsed in my stomach or that my right arm was shackled to the bed’s railing.

No, I didn’t care that my ears felt as if they had cotton in them, muffling all the sound. I only cared for my lungs to fill up with oxygen and then to force carbon dioxide out. Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. Repeat. Deep breathe in, deep breathe out. The exercise was more helpful than I thought it would be. It helped calm my racing heart and my eyes slowly began to take in my surroundings.

I was in a small room. The queen sized bed that I was laying on took up more than half the room. A small TV was nestled high in the far corner. The walls were painted in an awful sea green color. The carpet was riddled with stains, hiding the true color. I tried to sit up to get a better view of my room, but my stomach burned and my shoulder groaned in pain. I closed my eyes as a wave of dizziness threaten to take over. I slowed down my breathing, trying to get control over on function of my body.

That’s when I noticed the figure hovering in the background, next to the door. My control over my breathing shattered, my throat closed up. Fear slowly wrapped itself around me, blanking my body and my reasoning skills. I forgot the pain in my stomach and shot upright. I tried to scramble off the bed, but the figure moved to quickly, or I didn’t move fast enough. I wasn’t sure, all that I knew was the figure pinned me on the bed, hovering of my body.

The figure began to talk, but the fear had completely won the battle to my mind, hazing common sense. I tried to hit the figure, but alas it was useless. I didn’t land one punch. The figure cussed violently, before lightly slapping my check. The sharp rap sent adrenaline racing through my system, clearing the hazy fog on my brain.

I blinked hard twice before the figure came back into my vision. The figure’s face was scarred and marked on one side of his face. Recognition flashed threw me, Berto. I ceased my struggles and let my body relax. Once I became limp, my body screamed out in pain. I pulled my hands out of Berto’s grasped and pushed him off me. I then forced myself to sit upwards. I yanked the baggy tee shirt off my malnourished body, to take toll. What my eyes took it was haunting. A large circular scar stood out proudly on my lower stomach, near my belly button.  The upper area of my right thigh was sliced in half by a twisting line of a scar.

I took in the damage to my body, my shocked eyes tracked each and every new scar. My throat was still tight, but for a different reason. It was closed due to fear, but pain. Not physical pain, but pain of the destruction that happened. Pain that even though the scarring was bad, I got off easily. Other people, other shifters didn’t survive that blast.