Beautiful Disaster
All she could zone in on was her body's crippling flight or fight response to the horror she was finding herself in.
"Any last words, Camille?" The man's voice, as calm as a millpond, conflicted with the violence and mayhem he was unleashing on her as he advanced slowly towards her, like a predator stalking its wounded prey.
"No, please," she cried, shaking her head as she tried to hoist herself to her feet and run to safety. But her shredded arm, drenched in blood, was as useless as a button on a sock, robbing her of all the balance she needed.
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