Just a mini-chapter today, as it was a constrained writing prompt that involved beginning a 500 word story with the phrase “we’re the ones who ask the God damn questions here”. It was pretty damn hard to write this up in such a short word count! I wish I could edit it more to improve it, but, alas, I am at 499 words.
“We’re the ones who ask the God damn questions here” rumbled the hairless and neckless heap of muscle looming over me. Markas stood next to him, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
The only thing I had uttered since waking up in the dark, stinking basement was “wha..?”, but that was apparently enough to provoke this meathead. I had been gazing around at the mouldy walls and suspicious-looking stains in a daze, but as my wits returned to me, so did my fury.
I growled at them, feeling like a rabid dog as I strained against my chains. I wanted to snap and snarl, bark and bite, dart past that clod of a henchman to rip Markas’ damn throat out. But the clod did not so much as blink at my wordless threat, and Markas just chuckled. I felt my rage swell.
“Ask away, piss-drinker” I spat.
“Now now,” Markas chided in a soft, sing-song voice, wagging his finger at me as he smiled. “That’s not how we talk to people, is it?”
I braced my feet on the floor and struggled to break free of the chains, feeling them bite into the raw flesh of my wrists, neck and waist. It was painful as hell but I wasn’t going to complain; at least the chain wasn’t around my damaged ribs.
Another chuckle echoed around the dank room. “Oh Jarla,” Markas sighed, “do stop that.”
I spat blood at him in response, and it arced through the air to land squarely on the breast pocket of his fancy shirt. He sighed and nonchalantly brushed the mess off with a kerchief, but behind that air of indifference I could see his clenched jaw and the hardness in his eyes. Now it was my turn to smirk at my small victory.
Meathead the Henchman spoke up again. “We know you have it,” he said, mashing his fist into his palm for that special intimidation factor, before adding: “and we will do anything to find out where it is.”
Unfortunately for him, I was not easily intimidated. Ignoring Meathead – much to his chagrin – I looked at Markas. “I don’t know what or where ‘it’ is” I croaked, realising that perhaps I should have cherished the little moisture I’d had in my mouth rather than hurling it at Markas. On second thought, that bit of fun was worth it. “Perhaps Meathead here just lost it?”
A huge fist hurtled towards my jaw. I could do nothing but take the hit and see stars.
“Perhaps ‘it’ ran off with his brain” I slurred as Meathead began to fume, “and his cock. ‘Cos they’re both clearly not present.” I just about managed to turn my head towards Markas to growl “just like your backbone.”
The hardness in his eyes became sharpened daggers. He nodded at Meathead. I knew what was coming and braced myself, but it was no use. As Meathead’s knuckles crunched against the side of my head, the world went black once more.