02-19-2017, 08:59 PM
[align=center][align=center]The sound of strained, groaning rope made him want to scream, to kick out at the air and curse, but he wasn't gonna do that. Johnny was going to wait for someone to find him. Hopefully that person would be a friend seeing as he was a few feet off the ground hanging from a tree from his wrists. God, it was painful. If he glanced up he'd see skin rubbed raw from rope, the area around it red with irritation and smeared blood. That's what he got for being friendly to strangers. They looked nice enough, most of them were teenagers so he'd let his guard down. Well, now everything he had was gone. Even his comics, even his turtle ones. The third round of tears that evening started up again as he thought about how he would probably never see those funny drawings again. Of course they'd taken his rifle too, his food, everything. With his jacket and shoes gone it seemed like he'd just freeze to death before anything else.
His stomach was covered in swollen cuts, and an immediate bruise was forming where one of them had stabbed him in the hip. Shaking he tried to pull himself up using the rope, which was useless. Too weak, too tired, too injured. Seemed like everything was stacked against him today. He was used to feeling completely hopeless, which at least made him a bit calm. That wasn't new or anything. The pain was dulled thankfully. Maybe the cold had helped? He'd been hanging for a couple hours so it was possible he just got used to it. His shirt, which had rode up to his chest, was covered in blood from his wounds.
In a useless attempt at wriggling free he jerked his hip, which sent an explosive pain all along his side. Johnny yelled, a deep, snarling noise that was filled to the brim with anger. Adrenaline buzzed through him, but was short lived. His fingers kept tight on the rope despite the intense aching all up his arm. He did not need a broken wrist. Hell, he did not need any of this. There was so much going on and nothing at all happening. He was holding onto a rope so not to break his wrists, hip fresh with new blood, face beaten to a pulp. Yet everything was very quiet, and if not for his little situation he would have appreciated how pleasantly chill the night was. Fucking Christ what had he even done? Nothing, he'd done nothing. Just gave some directions to a group of kids. He hated this place, he hated it so fucking much. "[b]Fuck," he yelled to no one, doubting he was even close enough to the city to be heard.
// ya he has a pretty severe wound on his hip, his wrists are probably fucked too, and he was beaten by multiple people at once so yeah
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His stomach was covered in swollen cuts, and an immediate bruise was forming where one of them had stabbed him in the hip. Shaking he tried to pull himself up using the rope, which was useless. Too weak, too tired, too injured. Seemed like everything was stacked against him today. He was used to feeling completely hopeless, which at least made him a bit calm. That wasn't new or anything. The pain was dulled thankfully. Maybe the cold had helped? He'd been hanging for a couple hours so it was possible he just got used to it. His shirt, which had rode up to his chest, was covered in blood from his wounds.
In a useless attempt at wriggling free he jerked his hip, which sent an explosive pain all along his side. Johnny yelled, a deep, snarling noise that was filled to the brim with anger. Adrenaline buzzed through him, but was short lived. His fingers kept tight on the rope despite the intense aching all up his arm. He did not need a broken wrist. Hell, he did not need any of this. There was so much going on and nothing at all happening. He was holding onto a rope so not to break his wrists, hip fresh with new blood, face beaten to a pulp. Yet everything was very quiet, and if not for his little situation he would have appreciated how pleasantly chill the night was. Fucking Christ what had he even done? Nothing, he'd done nothing. Just gave some directions to a group of kids. He hated this place, he hated it so fucking much. "[b]Fuck," he yelled to no one, doubting he was even close enough to the city to be heard.
// ya he has a pretty severe wound on his hip, his wrists are probably fucked too, and he was beaten by multiple people at once so yeah
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ONESHOT STORAGE | JOHNNY | THE BADLANDS