wasteland - dreamnotfound

Chapter Eighteen

~|George|~ 

When I woke- Who knows how much later?- I was brought to consciousness by an odd sight.

A woman who I vaguely recognized through hazy, unfocused vision, who's blood red hair swirling about elegantly. 

Unbeknownst to me, of course, the battle and killing outside the very door that trapped me was far better than whatever situation I was in. It seemed hopeless, really-

But I'd known that from the start.

Anxiously, I tug at the stiff ropes binding me to my spot on the ground, pulled tight around my ankles and wrists. They rubbed at already long red and raw skin, making me wince slightly and quickly lapse into a dull stillness that was somewhat excruciating. 

The woman turns, and I feel my sore eyes go wide. 

"President." I mumble bitterly through chapped lips and a dry tongue, unable to hide the fear from my tone.

I can feel myself shaking slightly, hear the quiver in my tone. The glossed over, dull look in my eyes turns to a watery terror. I blink rapidly, confused. 

I thought I'd long accepted my death?

What was it that kept me fighting?

"George!" She says cheerfully with an excited clap of her hands. "Oh, my, I'm so glad you've finally decided to join me, it's been quite the five years, mm?" 

I stay silent, glaring icy daggers at the ground. 

"Georgie, you must use your words, dear." She hummed silkily, grabbing my chin far too aggressively. I find myself surprised her long nails haven't drawn blood. "I won't be able to kill you until you do!"

I toss my head to the side, knocking her hand away. "Fuck off." I growl, gritting my teeth in the sudden sting of the pink lines she'd left in her wake. 

The president clicks her tongue softly, rising back to her full height and gazing down at me. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Neither have you."

She kicks me in the stomach. I crumple in my place, pressing further into the fall with a soft, barely audible hum of pain. My hands instinctively try to fly to where she kicked me, only to be pulled back harshly by rope. 

"Remember where you stand, George." She snaps, her cheerful attitude almost instantly fading. 

"Sure as hell doesn't feel like I'm standing." I mutter through another soft whimper of pain, slightly gesturing to my spot on the ground. 

"Don't talk back." Each hit she lands I can tell will leave a bruise. 

Not that it much matters. 

"What do you even want from me?" I growl through a sore throat, suddenly painfully aware of the blood staining my clothes and caking to my skin. 

She giggles softly, leaning against her chair a little.

I take my chance and set to work. 

"I just want to ask a few questions before your inevitable death, that's all." 

"You aren't getting answers." I hiss bitterly, trying to delay the inevitable. My mind spins as I vaguely register the arrows on my back- The bow lays just barely out of my reach on her desk. A wave of frustration washes over me.

She notices, of course.

"What's wrong, Georgie? I thought I was good company?" She drawls softly.