Up in Smoke
I couldn’t breathe.
And it wasn’t from nervousness. Not from fear or anxiety or even the all-consuming dread that I felt the minute I heard sounds around me.
I couldn’t breathe because someone was quietly crushing my windpipe.
I thought the coast was clear. I walked back into the center of the room and into a pair of hands that were as strong as the Jaws of Life. A voice, barely more audible than a breeze, washed in heavy breaths across my frightened face.
The breaths were cool, disturbingly even, and had a sweet smell tinged with the scent of whiskey. Surprisingly pleasant, it was the only thing my terrified mind could process.
Maybe because I knew that it would be the last thing my brain would ever remember…
I tried to speak, but the sound of my voice died in my throat.
The man let go of my neck, and embarrassingly I sputtered. It was actually easier to catch my breath than I expected, like a faucet of air had been turned on within my lungs.
I breathed deeply as I tried to take a step backwards, and I wondered just who the hell this man was to have done what he had done. And though I couldn’t see his eyes… I knew he was silently daring me to even think about walking away from him.
And was that… was that a Bat suit that he was wearing…?
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