fragments (life isn't a choice) Amy- chapter I.

Amy

Life is a choice, thought Amy, as she twisted the rattlesnake head and ripped it off with a practiced motion, separating it from its still undulating body. She spit out her distaste of the procedure and muttered softly “if not you, then me”before she tossed the head casually into the bonfire.

With a sharp knife she acquired from one of her rapists, previously hidden in the sand of her makeshift camp, she made an incision down the length of the weakly moving body. After pulling out the intestines before depositing them into a shallow trench, she willed herself not to vomit whatever still remained in her empty stomach.

Once the reptile had been skinned, she added it to the steaming pile of organs and covered them with dirt -- a fitting grave for the beast that would help to keep her alive that night. She cut the carcass into long chunks, piercing them with her knife before roasting it over the fire she made with the help of the survival skills she had long mastered.

The serrated knife used to be the property of Dan, one of the two bikers who gave her a ride, raped her, then left her to die. She remembered their faces, their smell, and she expected to meet them again. She hoped they were locals. If they were, it would make her revenge that much easier.

For the time being, Amy rested her ravaged body, silently ate her makeshift meal, and cleared her wounded mind. The biker's payback would come later. Right now, she needed to sleep -- to recharge. She put her head on her backpack, curiously left behind by her 'benefactors' and moved her bruised face away from the scorching heat of the midday sun, hiding her face in the slightly cooler shade.

She'd done it intuitively, without any thought, protecting the fragile filaments of life still remaining in her battered body. She rationed the water still left in her backpack, thankful for what had been left.

She would drink the rest when she woke up. Before she started her walk back into the town she never had a chance to reach.

While she waited for sleep to claim her, she reached out and touched the large rock nature apparently meant to be her gravestone. The spot where they left her to die sprinkled in a semi-neat row that extended into the horizon. She could smell their smoky residue still permeating her clothes, seemingly her soul, and vowed she would never resume the bad habit they seemed to thrive with. She wanted nothing more than a simple life but that had changed. Now she found her existence complicated by her assailants mortality and her own need to end it.

This cemetery, her assumed resting place, was a reminder of her own precious life -- one she used to take for granted lately. She touched the stone again with a loving caress, thanking the gods the two bikers were drunk enough to leave her alive, knowing their lack of sobriety had been the sole reason she was still alive.

Cemeteries, much like the greasy smiles on those flea ridden thugs, usually creep you out. You should have listened to your instincts and kept on walking, rather than take your chances with them.

Amy snorted out her disgust at her actions, feeling the first waves of sleep starting to take hold of her consciousness.

Listen to the whispers next time. They barely kept you alive this time. You didn't inherit them just to have two grunting gorillas kill you. One more mistake like the one you made today, could be your last.