Hey all! I have a really great prompt for you all to do today. I did this one in my creative writing class and had THE BEST time writing it. I love the story I wrote for it, too. I pasted part of it. Not going to lie, I got carried away. Tell me what you think! Let's roll...
A cacophony of explosions rocketed me backwards into the maple bookshelf in my bedroom. My head screamed in pain. My hands shot up to my head and cradled it as my knees pulled into my chest. I layed there in a ball as the world around me was destroyedâagain.
The bombings had been going on for days. I couldnât remember a day where there wasnât some sort of disaster or outbreak. It had been seven days since I left my homeâone full week of solitary confinement. Although I guess I could leave if I wanted. I just had no reason to walk out into the war, or risk my life by contracting an illness or disease or whatever it was they were fighting with.
After six rounds of explosions the world around me quieted. It was too silent. I was paranoid at this point. I almost came out of my ball in the corner of the room, but then the sirens came. Wailing in the distance and getting closer, cop cars, ambulances and whatever other emergency vehicles zoomed through the streets.
I could smell the burning of human flesh nearby. I couldnât reactâmy body frozen in fear and self-preservation. I squeezed my eyes shut harder and tried to count to one hundred without the sounds of screaming making me stop.
As I hit the lucky number one hundred, I slowly opened my eyes. My house is only one storyâan old ranch with a rickety front porch and a screened door that bangs with the wind. A loud bang shot back to me. I tried to convince myself that it was just the oldness of the wood creaking. I tried to convince myself that it was just the screen door opening an inch or two and then shutting. But what I knew were footsteps got closer and closer.
I scooted on the wood floor of my bedroom against the wall until I felt the familiar paneling of the closet. Creakâanother footstep, this time just outside of the bedroom door. I rolled backwards into the closet and pushed myself until my back was flush against the back wall, clothes hanging and whipping me in the face.
I covered my mouth with my hands, worried that my ragged breaths would be too loud and the intruder would hear. A warm tear trickled down my face, stopping at my pointer finger below my nose, but I didnât wipe it away.
âMake sure you clear it.â The door to my bedroom slammed against the wall beside it. Crumbles from the wall landed on the hard wood, clinking like rainbow sprinkles. My heart jumped into my throat and nausea bloomed in the pit of my stomach.
The same deep, gruff voice mumbled something and then stomped through my bedroom. His steps sounded like he was wearing combat boots, each move a mini explosion. He huffed under his breathe, even his exhale sounding vicious and I could hear a knee crack. He became oddly quiet and I fought the urge to look out from the closet.
âI swear I have to do everything myself.â My bed creaked and a foot stomped. I faintly smelled something sour and bitter, like sweat and vodka. I struggled to hold back a sob as his boots got scarily close to me. The clothes above me swayed, a soft wind trickling over my face. I couldnât move.
âYou didnât think weâd leave you?â His arms wrapped around my shoulders and two more hands got my legs. âWeâve got a live one!â the man yelled and two more sets of feet came towards me, heavy and strong.
âShe sure is pretty.â The new voice was nasally and wicked. Just the sound had goose bumps prickling to life on my arms and spine. Someone touched my face and covered it with a silky piece of material. The hands near my face smelled like raw sewage. They were calloused and hard, needy with each touch against me.
I didnât fear my life anymore. I feared what they would do if they let me live. I never once heard a female voice. Never once felt like one of the menâs voices was trustworthy.
A man hauled me over his back, my face hitting his fat covered spine and my ass in the air. In this vulnerable state, I just wanted to pull my shirt down to cover my midriff. I wanted to fix my pants that were around my waist, showing just the start of my butt. But before I had the chance, my arms were zip tied together and my ankles as well. The screech of the white piece being shoved into the hole made me feel more out of control than anything in my life before this moment.
The man carrying me stomped through what I knew was my hallway. He didnât detour or walk around my house. He went straight through my rickety old screen door. It crashed shut behind us and I heard another manâs feet catch and a bang from behind me.
âFuck, Jim. You damn shut the door in my face.â
âOh, screw off. Iâve got the girl. Hold your own damn door.â
Suddenly, Jim, stumbled forward and my head slammed against his back. His arms tightened around my waist and I wished that heâd just drop me. But without arms and legs, I donât think Iâd get far.
âWhere do you want her?â Jim asked.
âJust shove her in the back seat. Put her in the middle and Iâll sit right next to her.â A finger traced the outline of my hip and trailed up to my face, making sure to pause along the way at my breasts. His finger got lost in my hair and I groaned. I screamed bloody murder. Someone slapped me in the faceânot Jim, since he couldnât reach. My cheek ignited in flames, a sharp fire where his palm connected.
I couldnât hold back the sobs and I didnât have to be quiet anymore. I struggled in Jimâs arms, crying as I knew that no matter what happened, I wouldnât be free. I bucked my hips up and thrust my shoulders forward, hoping to flip over and at least stand alone. Jim pulled me down and cradled me in his arms. My right ear was pressed against his chest, his heart thumping steadily. His arm was behind my head, holding my shoulders, and his other arm was under my knees.
âJust get in the car before you get yourself hurt,â Jim said. His knee cracked as he felt his arms release me into a leather seat. The car rumbled to life as one of the doors shut from the front. It was painfully dark and I wished someone would just take the blindfold off of me. At least if I could see these people then Iâd be able to identify them. A grim thought floated through my headâI might not make it to that point.
I tried to sit up, but it was impossible without my arms. I ended up only making myself more available to these men by lying flat on the bench seat in the back of the car. A loud bang against the car jolted me and I quieted trying to listen to what was going on.
âGet in the other car and meet us there.â It was Jim who spoke first.
âI want to play with the lilâ lady.â
âWell, I said get in the other car.â Another bang against the car. I could only imagine the dents in the side of it. Jimâs voice was getting angrier by the second, the gruffness returning.
âWhat the fuck is your problem? This is what we do now. New world order and all that shit. Youâre the jackass in charge.â
âIâm pretty sure if I was you, Iâd listen to the jackass in charge.â Jim exhaled. âNow get in the other car and get the fuck out of here.â For a moment, there was just silence. And then another hit. And then the heavy boots retreated. The man in the driverâs seat mumbled under his breath, something about hurrying this along, I gathered. And then I felt someone beside me, and I honestly wasnât sure if it was Jim, or the other guy.
âDrive to the docks.â It was Jim. For some reason, I felt relieved that it was Jim and not the other guy. Iâm not sure if it was the mere fact that I knew Jimâs name or what, but I was thankful he was beside me.
âGot it.â The driverâs tone was clipped, like he knew the drill and didnât need to be reminded where to go. His voice was quiet, soft, not menacing or evil like most of the others. It didnât mean I trusted him, but Iâd rather have him near me then the man who wanted to play with me.
Jimâs hands touched my shoulders and I flinched backwards. I used my knees to kick against the seat and I pushed myself until I was against the side door. I felt the indent of his weight in the seat as he hovered above me. His breath was on my face, and oddly enough, it was minty.
âI wonât hurt you.â He sounded sincere, but I didnât believe him. The car bounced as we ran something over. All I could think of was a body being squished. Jimâs hands found my face, and he gently lifted the fold off my eyes.
© Taylor Lavati 2017
What Readers Have to Say...
"An absolutely heart wrenching read that shows us that at times no matter how much we hope, darkness will find its way to win. "
-Blogger's From Down Under for A Reliant Love
"So this book is the ultimate love story. I like how two ordinary people who is so different and still so alike in so many ways can overcome everything together."
-Angelica Berglund for For The Love of Hockey
"I never thought I would read a "zombie book", much less love one. The Last Legacy really surprised me. Even with the whole people-eating-people thing, it was a fantastic book"
-Melannie S for The Last Legacy
"I could not wait to start book two. If this book was as good as book one, then I knew I wouldn't be disappointed. It wasn't as good as book one...it was better. "
-Keely Retchloff for Finding Sam
"The powers, the love, the excitement, the drama kept me so enthralled. If you are looking for a GREAT series about true love and mythology, look no further... I wish I could rate 10 stars! Definitely recommend this whole series to all my book loving friends!"
-The Book Blog for A Curse Books Trilogy
"For the Love of Ash" by Taylor Lavati was a rare 5-star read for me. I honestly find many typical romances rather dull and predictable. This was not the case at all here; there was nothing average about the romance, overall storyline, and the long list of supporting characters."
-Summer's Book Blog for For The Love of Ash
"Wingless isn't what I would normally pick up and read, but thought I'd try it out and I am so glad I did. The characters and "worlds" she creates are done so well that you can actually picture them and feel like you are there right along with the characters."
-JLH for Wingless
For The Love of Hockey | January 2016
The Price of Love | 2017