black spring

The memories of that evening will be forever imprinted in your mind, like a thin crack through which the cold seeps.

You couldn't bear your mother's scolding you for bringing shame on the family, grabbed your jacket, and walked out, slamming the door. The cold air hit your face, and your tears blurred the city lights: every other streetlamp was lit, everything else was drowned in gloom. You walked to the beach—your refuge. The sound of the waves usually soothed your worries, but this time everything was different.

Closing your eyes, you suddenly heard a gunshot—you flinched, as if you'd been torn from sleep. All around you was darkness. Your heart pounded in your throat, your breathing ragged. Then you heard quiet voices nearby, and your body took a step forward.

Four figures stood before you, over a body in the sand. Their calm was unnatural—no fuss, no doubt. One of them looked up, and your eyes met. The faintest smirk on his face made your stomach clench. You stepped back—but the space was no longer yours.

You woke up in darkness, thick and oppressive. Trying to move caused a sharp pain: the ropes dug deep into your wrists.
“Help…” the voice broke, dry and broken.
Silence. Time stood still. Suddenly, the door creaked, and light burst in, burning your eyes. Figures entered and stopped nearby. One grabbed your chin, forcing your head up. His brown eyes—empty, emotionless—were the most frightening of all.
"I don't advise resisting," the voice was even. "If you want to live, learn to adapt to the rules."
He tugged at your elbow, pain flashed through your body, followed by a slap, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.
“Kitty, take it easy,” came the blond man’s voice from the side.
The brunette did not answer.
"We'll untie your hands," the blond continued. "But if you move, you'll end up where you were on the beach."
The blade cut the ropes. A plate of food landed next to him.
“We don’t need you to pass out prematurely,” he said calmly.