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Struggle




She ambushed me. I was on the ground in less than a second and she was on top me. Scratching and clawing at my face, she screamed out loud and plunged her face towards mine. Instantly, as if by instinct, I shoved my hand in her bloody mouth just in time to prevent her from taking a chunk of out my neck. Fear started to set in and so did her smell.

She reeked of fetid mould and decay. Her eyes were wild and insistent on ending my life. Our blood mixed and my vision began to sting and blur as it flecked into my eyes. She released her toothy grip on my hand and leapt to her feet, about four feet from me. I started to crawl towards the stairs and I could hear her giggling at her inevitable victory.

She leapt on to my back and began driving her fists into the back of my head. Even for a small woman, her little pointed knuckles were causing some serious pain and at that moment I was done playing.

I stood up, ignoring her feeble attacks, picked her up by the arms and threw her against the basement wall. She was out cold. I dragged her over to her mattress and began picking up her TV dinner. Leaving it by her, I walked up the stairs and unlocked the basement door with the key from my pocket. Breathing a sigh of disappointment, I turned to look down at her.

“Almost got me that time, maybe next week,” I shouted. Locking the door behind me, I shuttered with pleasure. I love it when they struggle.

—
Credits to: theangrygooch

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