"Cocktail"

You lie chest up. Your legs twist around one another as tall, straw-like grass pokes up between the gaps. Your blonde locks fall limply from your face, except where the small piece, sticky and dark red, lies plastered to your forehead. Your arms lift to brush it away and rub the crust off, but they are bound. A piece of twine cuts your wrists trapped beneath you. Why can�t you move? You try to blow the hair away, but no breath escapes your cold lips. The night air is chilling, and you wish you could reach for your sweater thrown askew four feet away. You wish you could cover your bare legs and bare stomach and bare, bruised arms. You wish you could cover your scratched chest. Wind blows, but you cannot feel the weeds brushing against your skin. Your shirt is shredded and ripped off your shoulders. The air around you is silent except the faint rustle of weeds. You can�t even hear the highway above where cars pass you by unaware.

Suddenly a beam of light flashes over your face, across your shoulder, onto the grass and your scattered clothing. Where is it coming from? You see another one probing the grass on your other side. They backtrack to your face and scan slowly down your body. The darkness can�t hide your exposed flesh anymore. This dull white light undresses you even more, and now every cut and scrape and bruise and drop of blood is apparent, open, for the night to see.

Two tall black figures approach. They wear black leather boots up to the knees, and you see the glimmer of a gold badge on one�s chest. They pause a few feet away from you. Why are they looking at you? What right do they have to study your body, vulnerable and powerless in bondage? Go away, you think, for your lips are incapable of emitting sound.

�Oh god,� one of them breathes. You see his breath in the air. He freezes, eyes locked on you.

Oh god what? What does �oh god� mean? Don�t just stand there saying oh god, untie my wrists and help me up, will you?

�This will be all over every news source by breakfast tomorrow,� said the other. �We just need to find the guy.�

Find what guy? I might be able to help you find him if you just untie me. Why aren�t you helping me? Why are you staring at my forehead? My hair is messy, please don�t stare.

He bends down toward your face, but does not touch you. �Bullet wound right there.� He points at your sticky forehead.

Bullet wound? If there�s a bullet wound why aren�t you rushing me to the hospital? If I�m hurt, please help me. Please, I woke up here and my sweater�s over there and if I could only reach it, but my hands are tied. Don�t you see my hands are tied?

He bends closer and smells. �Alcohol. Bet that�ll show up in the autopsy, along with...ahem...remnants of the offender,� he says, nodding toward your legs.

Autopsy? On who? I drank a cocktail� It was only a cocktail, and then I fell asleep. I don�t know how I got here or why my hands are tied, but if you could just untie me so I can grab my sweater, I wouldn�t feel so cold. Could you just untie me?

�Her roommate said she went to a party, right? So I�m sure he was there. I keep telling young girls they need to watch their drinks. Or this happens.� He clucks and shakes his head.

I only left it for a second while I went to the bathroom...

before - after