Un-Stuck

He couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed. The darkness pressed so hard against his lids that it created a gnawing at the back of his brain. He had no idea where he was. It smelled of dampness mixed with rotting flesh. A sticky warm liquid poured from the corner of his mouth and the only sounds were the drops of blood against the floor. The taste of copper settled deep into his tongue. Phone. He tried to reach for it, but his wrists were bound behind his back, pulling at the skin and burning the flesh. Someone called. She called, he thought. But things weren’t making sense. Bite sized memories flashed through his head, a red lantern, a cat, a pistol colliding with his jaw. They found him. They knew he was sneaking around, and the Russian woman heard his phone and that’s when he met the side of her gun. A new wave of dread flowed over him. There was no doubt that they were going to kill him. No one would be on the way to save him. And since he didn’t get back, those men watchin...

He had to keep running even if it meant that his heart would explode. If he didn’t make it, there would be nothing to go back to. He didn’t need to be told twice. The marks were still there from the first time and that was more than enough to keep him going. He moved his way through an intricate maze of poorly lit back alleys, making sharp quick turns around dumpsters and broken skids. The cold night air burned something fierce in his lungs, setting them on fire as the cobblestone pathway sent shocking sensations up his ankles, rubbing his knees raw. Just a little further now. A red lantern on a black shop door signaled the turn a couple meters ahead. After that, he had to look for a trash bin with a cat graffitied on it. There was a vibration coming from his pocket, amplified by the quietness of the alley. It would be her, wondering where he was this late at night, not knowing that someone was keeping eyes on her, just in case he fucked up, didn’t make it in time or bailed like a cowa...