The back of her skull cracked when it hit the bottom of the pit.
The tiny crack sound exploded inside her eardrums.
Her jaw unraveled with the rest of her, and her mouth hung open to the sun-kissed sky— a gaping, useless lump of flesh and bone.
When the shock peeled away, her nerves flared raw. She willed herself to move. The pain whipped her back in place, spiking through her spine, and hammering her body —limp, useless—into the earth like coffin nails.
The sun bloomed above the mouth of the pit. A thick-limbed tree filtered the sunlight into warm, fluttering flickers. Two birds hopped along a branch, chirping to each other; one playfully poked the other. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers.
Life is mocking me.
Her throat tickled. A laugh clawed its way up and she choked it down.
There was a dampness in the center of her muddy pants. She recognized the faint odor of piss, and the shame that filled her and stung her eyes with tears was absurd. Ridiculous.
Right now, with insects crawling through her sweat-slick mop of hair, all she wanted to do was scream .
She always hoped she'd die screaming. There was some dignity in that.
Dying with a whimper seemed to be her final punishment.
Rage came next, and she welcomed it like a lifelong friend.
Who left her to die here?
She could no longer picture the face of the one who pushed her down this well—couldn't even recall their name.
Her skull throbbed with each heartbeat, each pulse a sharp flare of pain. But she trusted her rage to fill in the blanks. To dig up enough of the truth. To let her know .
She couldn't accept death. Couldn't rest. Wouldn't let anyone else rest—not until she knows why she wasn't allowed to live a week past her fourteenth birthday.