Skye Maelstrom Faust
The arms held me down from all sides. At least, I think they were
arms. I could feel my skin oppressed. My mind told me that they were
trying to force something on me I didn't want.
I pulled my arm towards me, readying it to lash out at those that were holding me here. I swung. My arm met hard flesh and bone and stopped painfully. It was pulled down again, despite my best efforts.
I thrashed my body and writhed around, trying to avoid the hands. It wasn't working. I could hear them talking among themselves, of what I couldn't tell. Whether or not it was for good was beyond me. I just knew that there was a primal fear calling out to me. I had to escape.
I considered for a moment what might happen to me if they eventually did subdue me. My imagination was flooded with pictures of me being tortured and killed in most unspeakable manners. I continued to fight, even as I do now.
That moment that I just told you of may have happened years ago or just minutes ago. My memory has since ceased to properly function. I just know that it has always been like this, a struggle against the unknown.
Even still, though my arms are bloody and scarred, I continue to defy my oppressors. I know that I always have. And I know I always will.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story is a copyright of Skye
Maelstrom Faust (Michael Woods), 1998. All rights reserved.