Page 71 of Not Her Day to Die

Mark bares his teeth. “A monster that is going to stretch your holes and tear you open.”

And he means it. It is in the set of his jaw, the smug pursing of his lips, the way his eyes trace my movements.

I can tell that Mark has been waiting for this, wanting me for longer than he cares to admit. Not because he has some obsession with me, no, because he wants to control me, break me.Ruinme.

Just as he has countless women before me.

But there isn’t any time for this. To argue. “Okay, do what you want to me. But you have to promise to let the others go free.”

Mark’s cheeks tighten as his lips lift up. He bends over until we are eye level. His slimy breath fans across my face. “What a good little Sunday School. Maxwell was right, you don’t have much fight in you do you? You’re just a bitch in heat, forcing everyone else to protect you. But that’s good because–”

I will never know what Mark was going to say, nor do I care.

The razor blade leaves a trail in its wake as I swipe it quick and hard across his neck.

The blood splatters across my face, clothes, and skin. A testament to what I’ve done.

It is with an odd satisfaction that I watch as the life drains from him, as the desperation in his eyes is replaced with terror and understanding. As his mouth twitches to scream, but he can’t. As every piece of him dissolves into nothing.

It doesn’t take long before he slumps to the ground, twitching on his way down. I step back as far as I can to avoid him. I do not focus on the immense satisfaction I feel as he stills on the ground.

Burying my emotions and paying it no mind, I twist around. I need to turn the air back on. The access may be open to the outside, but it isn’t enough air for where I am.

Maybe if my mind were working properly I would open the door to this control room, but it isn’t.

My head is filled with cotton balls, my legs are shaking beneath me, and my vision is fading in and out. I can’t catch my breath, each inhale more difficult than the last.

I need air. I am suffocating.

36

October 7th

“Sunday?” My name rings out in the air, distant and unsettling, but I am in a thick inescapable fog.

In fact, I could be imagining the voice altogether. Ignoring it, I continue to search for the button in this room that turns the air back on, but I am having no luck.

“Sunday?!” My name is more frantic this time and it nearly draws my attention, but I keep my sole focus on the task at hand.

My vision is darkening, my legs are gelatinous.

There are too many thoughts that I could have that would cripple me and there isn’t time for any of that. Instead I focus on one.

I need to turn the air back on.

I need to turn the air back on.

I need to–

My knees finally give out and I have to hold onto the table to keep myself from falling onto Mark’s body.

I need to turn the air back on.

Stretching, I desperately search for anything that would indicate it’s for the air flow, but besides the big red button, I can’t see anything.

I need to turn the air back on.

I need to turn the air back on.