A fire, so unbelievably vicious licked at my heart.
My entire body wracked with hatred. There was nothing I would rather be doing, than tearing the throats of these murderers out of their necks.
I took a single breath in, and finally, for the first time since we had ran away, I let myself lose control.
When I came to myself, blood dribbled down my face, soaked my shirt and ran like a river down my arms.
I was lying on the floor, incredibly weak.
I looked up around the room, as to gain a clue of the blood-shod victim. I looked down at my shirt and realised that I was in the same place I had started.
I slowly sat up, opened my hands and stared, shocked at the four crescent scars on each hand.
It was then that I became aware of the fact that there was a legion of masked youths dividing me from the entire room, save for the semi circle shape I was in, alone.
I peeled my ruined shirt over my head and threw it to the floor.
The pain hit me at that moment, almost as if seeing the scars that had been inflicted on my stomach caused extreme discomfort.
I fell back to the ground, dizzy.
The blood was all my own.