Formerly "True Love" now "Left to Die"

a revision of my story "True Love". I always hated the corny ending so I rewrote it. This is version 2.0, a lot better I think. Tell me your thoughts and enjoy! :D

 Who am I? Better yet, where am I and how do I get out?

I'm soaked in a sticky red liquid and the source seems to be a gash in my side. I sit up trying to remember anything really. I realize the red stuff is blood. And a little more thinking leads to the assumption that I am in a garage. There are cars covered by tarps and dirty sheets.

A stack of crates leans precariously to the right but it's all I have to pull myself up. The pain is overwhelming as I stumble over to a door and try the handle, it's locked. The windows have boards covering them and over the boards are bars so I don't bother trying. The garage doors look extremely rusted and I doubt they'll offer an escape but for the time being its my only possibility. After struggling for a minute or so it becomes apparent they're not going to budge any time soon.

My wound is becoming unbearable and I know I need medical attention, although, it doesn't seem possible. So in agony, I walk to the closest covered vehicle and tear the cloth, wrapping it around my abdomen.

Bones are scattered among the many red and black stains in the concrete. I slowly sink down to the ground. I'm never getting out of this place.

Squeaking fills my ears, rats.

I had to have sat there for an hour before one of the grotesque rodents scurried past me. I watched, disgusted, as it ran to one of the skeletons and picked up a piece of rotting flesh, shoved it in its cheeks, then started to turn back. As it did it noticed me. The vermin cautiously walked towards me sniffing the filthy ground as it went. I acted as if I were dead as it climbed on me, hoping for a fresh meal. Before I freaked out I snatched it off my leg and through it at the stone wall with all my might. The squeaking in the background stops. I rushed as fast as my injury would let me, to the rats corpse and pick it up. I feel like I might be sick just thinking about eating the foul creature.

That's when the real problem surfaces: I have nothing to cook it with. Eating it raw would be a last resort. Maybe I could find matches or a lighter. There are many places they could be, I suppose I just have to look.

I rummage through the boxes I used for support, only to find them all empty. A walk to the back just brings me a pocket knife and nothing more. A little worried I was wrong, I check the windows of a few cars, each looked empty so far. When I was back at the car I got my bandage from, I sigh. This is the last car. I stare into the window and there it was, sitting right on the passenger side seat was a lighter. This could be the happiest moment of my life, I think as I try the handle. It's locked. “No! Come on, open!” I smashed my fists against the dirty glass but can't shatter it.

I fall in defeat. My only choice now being to eat it uncooked. Using the knife I skin the rat. Reluctantly I bring the awful smelling thing to my lips and tear off a chunk. Its blood fills my mouth and for a second I think I might vomit, but I manage to force it down. “Imagine it's a steak...” I tell myself. It doesn't work. With each bite, a little part of me died. Whoever I was before, I was not used to these low standards. No one should be. After I finished my regrettable dinner I rested my head back against the car. My eyelids became heavy and soon I was drifting off.

The next morning I wake up with a view of the ceiling, its falling apart. A few shafts of sunlight filtered through. I'm sure even if I could somehow manage to get up there I would fall through.

The air is dry and I am so extremely thirsty I can't even think about escaping, unless it's to go find water. There's a sink but it has no plumbing running up to it. I search the vehicles and finally find a water bottle in a rusty orange truck. I take a sip, it taste like battery acid. Its gone in seconds. The next second I'm throwing up a mixture of water, rat, and my blood. I wipe all the disgusting regurgitated substances off my face only to puke again. I lay down in the bed of the truck and instantly fall into a deep sleep.

When I wake up a mist is falling from a hole directly above me. Then I realize that's my name, Misty Greene. This brings on more and more memories. For instance, my birthday, my age (fourteen), my first bike, my first kiss. It also reminds me how I got here.

A tall thick man wearing a ski mask kidnapped me in my own house. He came in through my bedroom window, I think. And when I woke up, there was a gloved hand covering my mouth. My captor duct tapped my legs and arms. I remember him removing his mask and saying to himself “She's as good as dead now.” The evil grin on the mans face terrified me. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and withdrew a bowie knife. “I can't believe I married that w***e only to end up with this brat.” I had squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to see or hear what would happen next. “I always hated kids, you misty, you were the epitome of my hatred though. I'm going to be so happy to have you gone, out of my miserable life.” and with that he plunged the weapon deep into my flesh.

After a while of processing this, I wiped a tear from my eye. I knew it was my step father, and I knew he hated me, but I never thought he would go this far. After my mom died of cancer he was just so cruel to me. I usually only ate every other day because he never bought food. I was the subject of his abuse and there was nothing I could do.

I needed to take my mind off that wretched man so I went in search of something to collect rain water. I found a white bucket and placed it under one of the holes in the ceiling.

By then my make-shift bandage was soaked through and needed to be changed, I realized. I was surprised to find it still bleeding as I carefully peeled it off. I tore another strip off the same tarp as before, carefully reapplying. After that I was left with nothing else to do since I did not hear or see any more rats. I decided to count the raindrops that fell into the bucket.

I was at five hundred and sixty nine when I died. My breathing had slowed around the first hundred but I just kept on counting. Now I hovered by my corpse wondering what I would do next. I have heard stories about how the deceased saw a light but none came.

My spirit was left in that dark garage in an unpeaceful rest for all eternity.