C.A. Conklin

Into The Woods

My arms are weak. I'm in excruciating pain. I lift my hands off my lap to my face and touch something warm running down my left temple into my hair, dripping into my ear. The pain in my arms is more than I can bear, and I drop them back onto my lap. I've done my best to prop myself up on the armrest of the truck door. As I glance down at my fingers, the viscous fluid spreads across my skin, swollen and numb from the zip tie, making it difficult to escape. My sparkling white-gold wedding ring is no longer bright with life, but dull and red. My thumb rolls into the crimson blood, leaving a stain. The blood is mine.