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       Lost Ones, p.1

           Rute Canhoto
 
Lost Ones


  LOST ONES

  Rute Canhoto

  https://rutecanhoto.blogspot.com

  ISBN 978-989-98352-0-7

  Copyright 2013 Rute Canhoto

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or

  given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please

  purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase

  your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgement

  Who to thank? In first place, my recognition goes to the writer Becca Fitzpatrick, because it was the reading of her series that gave me the final ‘push’ to start writing in the literary genre that attracts me the most. That’s how it goes - sometimes we only need a small incentive to embrace something that we like.

  Secondly, my gratitude goes to my childhood friend, Vera Letras, for her enlightenments in medical procedures that are mentioned along the story.

  A special thanks also to Carla Soares, for her support and for always being available. I learned a lot from her and I hope to still learn a lot more.

  Daniela Nunes, Diana Lourenço, my Twitter pal, Nikki and Jackie Williams – they all helped me, in a way or another, to translate this text to English, so I can’t forget them.

  At last, but not the least, I want to thank to Patrícia Gatinho for the motivation. Every week she kept asking me how the book was going, and she was the first person to read the first draft and to give me her opinion.

  Anyway… without the influence and contributions of everyone, this book would not have seen the day light. I hope you like it!

  PROLOGUE

  His touch was extremely hot; so hot, that her skin burned and opened as his finger glided. she felt as if she was being flashed by a branding iron. The scorching heat conflicted with the cold wet night, agitated by a symphony of terror: crashing thunders harmonized with invader lightnings that kept streaking the sky. The cutting rain slashed her. She tried to be strong and not to cry, but the pain was so strong that, eventually, a mortifying scream escaped her, ceasing only when her attacker stopped. She could have sworn that her cry echoed through the whole city, yet no light turned on in any house, no one came to the door to sneak a peek at what was happening, no one came to save her. She couldn’t help but to feel like a fly caught in a spider web, waiting for the inevitable.

  “Ask me to stop” ordered her the enemy.

  Trying to look more fearless than she was, she replied, “No! I'm not giving you that pleasure!”

  Her response only infuriated her opponent even more, who roared in unison with the storm, “Then you’ll suffer more until you change your mind.”

  A brutal cut opened a tear below her right breast almost to her left hip. The pain was excruciating, however the scream died on her throat; she had no more energy to voice her suffering. She dropped her head forward and watched the water drops falling from her hair. She avoided examining her stomach. She was fully aware that, if she looked down and saw the blood, she would lose the last ounce of strength she had left… and she feared that there was still much to come until the coup de grace finally arrived.

  In a rare moment of lucidity, she mentally begged for the other person there to help her. She hoped he would hear and attend to her prayers, but he merely swung on the same site, pleased and satisfied with the punishment applied to her. She tried to blame him for not rescuing her, but she couldn’t. She had put him in that situation, so it was only fair that he equated the scale: ‘yin’ and ‘yang’ were trying to restore the balance.

  The girl dared to stare at the puddle of shades of crimson that was forming at her feet, which were bound to the pole she had been tied to. Red, she thought, the color of love... but also of death. And how one was synonymous with the other at that time… Did she regret what she had done and that had led her there? Maybe she would change one thing or another, but never too much, since she treasured all the good times they had had.

  A growl of hate made ​​her return to the atrocious present, too painful to bear. Her greatest comfort was that soon everything would end. She couldn’t figure how she could save herself; she could only resign to her fate. Despite the agonizing pain that almost made ​​her beg for the Reaper to be swift, she tried to straighten up, to await the final blow with the dignity she had left. However, her courage fled near the final hour and she shut her eyes. She felt the pole vibrating and her body trembled with the reverberation.

 
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