Naomi Clark

Clark Lee Zumpe

Moaning, she pressed her bloody fingers to her mouth, biting down on her splintered nails to keep herself silent. Coppery-sweet blood coated her tongue, making her gag and choke. Her head lolled to her side as she vomited onto the cool, smooth surface she lay on. Wet and slimy, it matted in her long hair, creeping towards her neck and making her writhe and bang her sides on the thick wooden wall as she tried to move away. In her mind, the mocking laughter of childhood bullies roared and echoed, blocking out her shallow, gasping, sobbing breaths. Under their laughter, her own voice chanted endlessly: there's nothing in the dark that wasn't there before the lights went out. Except the only thing in this darkness was her. And she didn't know where she'd been before the lights went out. - Excerpt from "1770" by Naomi Clark

Clark Lee Zumpe

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