The Shattered Genesis (Eternity) Read Free

canister between his thumb and forefinger.
                  “You left your bag on the back of your chair.” He explained before placing my only possible weapon in his jacket pocket.
                  “Alright, I want you to listen to me,” I kept my voice steadier and bolder than anyone could possibly feel in a moment like that, “I don't know who you are. I don't know if this is because you're just craving sexual contact or if it’s in some response to some famili al crisis that you experienced as a child...” I was rambling, trying to keep him at bay with my ridiculous over-thought and unnecessary musings. “But I can assure you that I am not experienced in sex and as a result, not good at it. Okay?”
                  Leave it to me to still be overly analyzing someone even as I faced the prospect of being horribly violated. Call it my defense mechanism. I firmly believed that I could talk my way out of anything. It was the last straw of hope I grasped at when faced with trauma.
                  I di dn't realize it but I was backing away from him slowly, preparing for the moment that I dropped my bag and ran back to the bar. I looked behind me and my heart iced over with the unthinkably strong intensity of absolute, desperate terror. The two jocks fro m the bar had been following in our wake like shadowed specters in the dark. The dim light cast by the street lamps contorted their features again or perhaps my own fear did that for me. Perhaps I was seeing them as appearing monstrous because I knew what their unspeakable intentions were.
                  “Oh, my God...” I whispered softly and I tried to remember everything I knew about adrenaline rushes and the inherent, animal instinct to stay alive. Whoever said that when one is in a bind they can suddenly become unsto ppable fighting machines clearly never experienced the fear that prey feels. They especially didn't account for when the prey had felt that same suffocating fear before...
                  “Listen to me, Brynna.” The man was walking towards me, reaching one hand out slowl y.
                  “Do not come near me! I...” I scrambled for something, anything to scare him away. “I have a knife!”
                  The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could fully realize just how ridiculous I sounded. Why would I have reached for pepper spray when I had a weapon that would end the current shenanigans in a more severely final way?
                  I've always considered myself as being of much higher intellect than almost everyone else on God's green earth. But in situations where one feels what I felt at that moment, it ju st doesn't matter what some faulty IQ test said about you. There is nothing to do, say, or think; there is only the swelling, smothering fear in your chest, paralyzing you while mentally driving you to act. It is so frustratingly paradoxical.
                  “Just walk w ith me.” The man instructed calmly as he reached out his hand to me. “You have no chance of outrunning them...”
                  “Oh, my God...” I muttered again. I looked all around me frantically for a way out. I couldn't go back to the bar and I couldn't run straight a head. But there were no cars coming and I knew that if I had any chance at all, it would begin with me running across the street.
                  I turned and darted into the road, narrowly avoiding being mowed down by a cab that appeared from nowhere and went rushing by , horn blaring and a curse word being screamed out the window by the driver. I had never been skilled at sports or any type of physical activity; I possessed the endurance of an eighty year old with chronic arthritis and spots on their lungs. But with that adrenaline coursing through me, I ran, as some clever person who thinks up clichés once said, like the devil was