"Red?" she finally manages to get the words out, even if they are the wrong ones. "I ..."
She can't even finish her sentence. Not out of the inability to speak, but because of the reality of how that sentence ends. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm scared.
In the light, the dampness that coats her skin is far more blood than water. Her fall in the darkness having done far more damage than she could have realized; she's already on borrowed time.
She tries again to pull in a good, decent breath, but the air just fills her mouth and all she can taste is blood. It coats her lips in a liquid vibrant red.
"You have to run," she insists and fumbles as best she can for her friend; any part of her she can touch and cling on to. Because she knows it will be the last time.
no subject
She can't even finish her sentence. Not out of the inability to speak, but because of the reality of how that sentence ends. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm scared.
In the light, the dampness that coats her skin is far more blood than water. Her fall in the darkness having done far more damage than she could have realized; she's already on borrowed time.
She tries again to pull in a good, decent breath, but the air just fills her mouth and all she can taste is blood. It coats her lips in a liquid vibrant red.
"You have to run," she insists and fumbles as best she can for her friend; any part of her she can touch and cling on to. Because she knows it will be the last time.