Introduction 3
Curled up in a foetal position, he didn't move. A good idea, though he didn't have much choice in the matter. Every bone was screaming at him not to move or else there would be dire consequences. Besides which, the slightest movement would alert the fuckers to the fact that he wasn't actually dead.
So he lay, curled up in a ball, his face embedded deep in the soft, yielding detritus at the side of the alley, eyes screwed up tight. He felt like a child hiding in the corner of a playground, hoping the world would go away and leave him alone.
He could feel the blood caking on his face, and the smell of ammonia was over-whelming. Certain that the alley was now quite deserted he lifeted himself up painfully onto his knees, where he convulsed and threw up what little food hadn't been beaten out of his stomach earlier.
Supporting himself on the wall with his left arm, he dragged his body upright. His right arm hung lifelessly by his side, sending waves of pain crashing against his numbed brain. He felt something hard in his mouth, and spitting, was not at all surprised to see one of his teeth on the floor amidst the mess of blood and saliva.
Get a grip. What you need is a drink.
He beat down his ragged suit and shirt, yet only succeeding in smearing mud and God knows what else into the fabric. Straightening the frayed remains of his tie, he felt in his pocket and was relieved to find his wallet still in place.
Mind, it wasn't as if he was beaten for his money.
With tentative steps, he staggered uncertainly along the alley in the opposite direction from the pub and his home in the direction of the reassuring plate glass window of the off license.
So he lay, curled up in a ball, his face embedded deep in the soft, yielding detritus at the side of the alley, eyes screwed up tight. He felt like a child hiding in the corner of a playground, hoping the world would go away and leave him alone.
He could feel the blood caking on his face, and the smell of ammonia was over-whelming. Certain that the alley was now quite deserted he lifeted himself up painfully onto his knees, where he convulsed and threw up what little food hadn't been beaten out of his stomach earlier.
Supporting himself on the wall with his left arm, he dragged his body upright. His right arm hung lifelessly by his side, sending waves of pain crashing against his numbed brain. He felt something hard in his mouth, and spitting, was not at all surprised to see one of his teeth on the floor amidst the mess of blood and saliva.
Get a grip. What you need is a drink.
He beat down his ragged suit and shirt, yet only succeeding in smearing mud and God knows what else into the fabric. Straightening the frayed remains of his tie, he felt in his pocket and was relieved to find his wallet still in place.
Mind, it wasn't as if he was beaten for his money.
With tentative steps, he staggered uncertainly along the alley in the opposite direction from the pub and his home in the direction of the reassuring plate glass window of the off license.
posted by U-B | 2:34 pm
4 Comments:
Opinion: Last sentance is too long. I'd shorten it to:
With tentative steps, he staggered uncertainly in the direction of the reassuring plate glass window of the nearest off license.
Opinion 2: I reckon you can come up with a far better description of the attackers than 'fuckers'.
Opinion 3: Cool. I like. Good intro.
Opinion 4: Now get on with the story! :op
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