First Rejection...Sort of

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I recently entered the Writer's Digest "Your Story" contest.  Today they posted the five finalists on the WD Forum for voting.  Unfortunately,my story was not included.  Oh well.  I thought it was pretty good, but I'll let you judge for yourself.

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Prompt:

You wake up to find a dead body on the floor – and a bloody knife in your hands. You can't remember exactly what happened, so you piece together the clues.

Reflections

I blinked and stared into crystal blue eyes. It took me a minute to realize they were my own. My face was sticky, spattered with red liquid. The stinging pain across my back suggested the blood might be my own.

I sat up and stared into the mirror that was the wall in front of me, eyes wide with shock. I was naked and chained to the floor by both ankles, a six inch kitchen knife held in my right hand. Two additional chains swung gently from the ceiling above me. Blood trailed down my face, neck and left breast, startling red against the porcelain white of my skin.

I stared at my reflection as the man unfurled the long black leather. With a crack, the whip snapped a ribbon of skin away from my shoulder.

The room was mirrored on every surface but the floor, the macabre scene reflected thousands of times over. A series of long slashes covered my back, oozing blood. The man lay behind me, long whip still clenched in his right hand.

The face hovered closer, an evil smile baring a perfect set of brilliant white teeth. He unchained my arms. I collapsed to the floor.

The man had a key. He used it to free my hands. If I could get the key, I could unchain my legs. It took me a minute or three to gather my courage, but I was finally able to do what was necessary. I scooted closer and pushed the body over with my bare foot. An angry red line stretched across his neck. Blood slid down the drain set in the floor next to his body.

I fought not to scream and broke out in a cold sweat. The blood drained from my face. My stomach heaved, producing clear bile that mixed with the blood on its way down the drain. I leaned over, propping my body up on both hands. Took a deep breath and threw up again.

When there was nothing left in my stomach, not even bile, I was able to think a little more clearly. I found the key in his pants pocket, but I couldn't leave naked and covered in blood. I struggled with the dead weight, gagging as I pushed and pulled, finally getting the body to cooperate and flip over onto its stomach. I pulled the right arm back behind the body at an angle that would have been painful if the man had still been alive. The jacket slid off, and I prayed that it would be long enough; I didn't want to remove his pants. It was short, but the jacket covered my important parts, which was what mattered.

A knife appeared in his gloved left hand. My right hand shot out, pulling it from his grasp.

I lifted the knife from the floor where I had dropped it in my initial shock. The door was camouflaged in the mirrored walls, but the silver doorknob finally gave it away. No window looked out into the hallway.

I pressed my ear to the door, but I couldn't hear a thing over the sound of my pounding heart. I placed my hand on the knob. I pushed. I pushed harder. The door was locked from the outside, leaving me trapped until someone else entered. I exhaled a whoosh of air that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

What was I going to do? The mirrors would give me away as soon as the person looked in. There was nowhere to hide. My only chance would occur the second the door opened.

I waited patiently, standing immediately to the side of the door. If there was one thing I had learned sitting in therapist waiting rooms, it was how to be patient. I waited until I heard the muffled sound of high heels on the linoleum floor. With a deep breath I prepared myself. The doorknob turned.

I twisted, sliding the blade across his neck.

“How are we...” the woman's voice cut off with a small cry of surprise. I grabbed her arm, pulling her past me into the room. Her five-inch stilettos gave her no purchase on the slick floor and she stumbled to her pleather-clad knees. Thankfully no one was with her and I easily slipped past, quickly pulling the door shut behind me. I ignored the muted thumps on the door, silently tiptoeing down the hall to the door marked 'Exit'.

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Lay it on me...what do you think?


Current word count on the novel:  28,832