➳
Send me a ➳ and I will generate a number from 1-300 (yes, 300!) for what my muse will say to yours. ↪ status: accepting!
She can’t recall much --- why she decided to walk home from the hospital so late at night, or where it all happened. All she remembers is kicking and screaming into the palm of a hand wrapped around her mouth to silence her cries for help, as she was dragged down an alley on the outskirts of the Gangnam district. She remembers a gruff voice asking her for money, and then she remembers a sharp pain that spread through her left rib-cage, where a fist came down hard on her once, twice, and then three times.
But that’s the extent of what her memory can tell her about the attack. She doesn’t remember how she managed to escape with her life -- but sadly not her purse, and she doesn’t remember where it happened. All she knows is that she has to get as far away from that place as possible, but she’s moving slowly nursing a few bruised ribs, and the streets are empty, so she’s giving up on the hope that by some miracle, she’ll find someone to help her.
But like an answer to a prayer, as she turns right down the main city street, the door to a local bar swings open and a man steps outside. Desperate to garner his attention, the frightened woman reaches out with her arms for him and grasps onto the sleeve of his shirt, tugging hard with her wrists, though trying to exert strength made her wince as a shockwave of pain shot through her torso.
“Help me! Please…” Nana pleads with the stranger, the look of agony written all over her face, eyes double their size and wide with fear.