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Air Africa

Novel By: Nixie

This is a thriller, about a woman who escapes her husbands chains by running away to Africa. When her husband finds out, he does everything he can to hunt her down ad ruin her.

This is something completely different from the 'norm' with me, I wrote it about 6 years ago and I recently found it in one of many boxes. All comments welcome! :)
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Submitted:Apr 1, 2008    Reads: 232    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   

Blood drips here. From bodies on tabletops, from their lifeless hands to the floor. Blood into blood. Men, women and children, white and black. Being white blooded does not make you white, or black, black blooded. It all flows as one, black into white, white into black, body to body, room to room.
The sound of a gunshot forces me to open my eyes, and there I see a child, a mother pleading for her child's life. How long should I lay here? How long do I pretend to know nothing of his torture?
I lift my hand and pinch my nose to disguise the taste of iron in my mouth and lick the blood away from my lips.
"Drip-Drip" the blood falls around me.
I am held captive here with invisible chains on my hands and my feet. The last time I tried to move I fell backwards and hit my head on the cement flooring with a sure crack, sending straight back into unconsciousness.
I lift my other hand and rub my head where I hit it, immediately feeling the sharp pain. I control it - or at least ignore it. I lift my head and shoulders, the weight making my feet rise and fall as I pull myself up into a sitting position, my body is limp like a newborn.
My head is heavy, my heart pounding and echoing in time with my surroundings. I put my palms to the floor and try to push myself up onto my feet, but the floor is plagued with blood and I slip. I haven't the strength yet to stand, but I managed to shuffle backwards so that my back is against the wall, my legs flopped before me. I can't move them, they just need a few minutes.
Sharp pins and blunt knives caress my body - pins and needles never felt so painful and with it comes nausea. Gradually, with deep breaths the numbness subsides and I wiggle my toes beneath my mudded brown boots. 'These boots were made for walking' said the shop assistant at the cash desk, the day I let my head rule my heart. I smiled, remembering passing the cashier my husbands credit card.
My feet are alive now, and I hum as I wait for the rest of my body to catch up. My left ear is ringing in A sharp and my heart is beating a deep bass. A song is playing inside me, until all I can hear is my hum and "drip-drip!"
I can hear it much better now, the ticking on time as the blood continues to fall. I check my surroundings, there is nothing to suggest I'm being watched - no one can see me amongst the dead.
I put my hand on my heart, the beat even I raise my knees to my chest and put my palms onto the floor; dry sand against cold stone. Steady now, I give it everything I've got to push myself up into a standing position.
"Mrs Caudwell!" Came the deep voice from behind me. I looked back to see a man I recognised. "I'm sorry" he said and then lifting a blunt metal object struck me over the head.
I Must be unconscious, but I still hear it.


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