Orange Crush
04 Jun 2021Today’s prompt: “Put your iPod on random shuffle, write down the lyric of the first song that comes on, and use it as an opening line.”
“Don’t,” you wheeze as your limbs flail through the thick underbrush, “follow me, don’t follow me!”
You’ve been running from Jane’s party for you can’t tell how long. It didn’t seem that long, but you’re already exhausted and the adrenaline took you well out of her neighborhood and into the undeveloped land beyond. You started running the instant those … things … broke through Jane’s back fence. They were giants. Behemoths. With long, sinewy arms and teeth filed down into points. And they were wearing clothes with human bones sewn onto the fabric. Fibula and tibia festooned on a makeshift breastplate. Metacarpal bracers.
When the fence splintered, you could see the bloodied bodies of Jane’s neighbors. And you didn’t need to know anything more about the behemoths. You ran, leaving the screams of the other partygoers behind you.
Your hand is clutching something. Enough adrenaline has ebbed from your body that you just now noticed you still have an orange soda in your hand.
You had a head start as the behemoths destroyed the party, but it’s gone now. The behemoths are faster than you. There aren’t a lot of trees here, so hiding isn’t a good option. You had hoped you could make it down the embankment a ways from Jane’s house before they saw you, but they have eyes on you now.
You can’t run. You can’t hide. So you scream. You plead. “Don’t follow me!” And then you trip, and roll down the embankment.
You pull yourself to your feet, and one of the behemoths is in front of you. You turn and run, clotheslining yourself against the outstretched arm of another behemoth. His arm wraps around your neck like a collar, and you struggle to breathe. You are starting to black out when he hurls you to the ground, and then kicks you until you are on your stomach.
The behemoth kneels next to you. He grabs the can of soda out of your hand and studies it idly. Then his other hand slams into your back. Sharp claws – you had not registered before how sturdy and sharp their fingernails were – rip through your T-shirt and erupt through your skin. He wraps his hand around your backbone and gives a great pull.
He’s got your spine. He’s got your Orange Crush.