Ella

Being tied to a beam for a year played havoc with one’s muscles, with any ability to fight back.

tried. Because the time had come.

The new girl was still weeping, weeping and crying.

had tried to tell her that she had time, that help could come in the year.

But it was difficult. Because her own time had come.

She fought the man who called himself Michael as he wrestled with her to tie her down on the table. She tried her best to object to every move he was making. But her arms flailed uselessly.

She managed one good kick, but that just infuriated him.

And in the end, he won.

“You’re crazy! Certifiably crazy,” screamed at him as he tied the last knot around her ankles. “Give yourself up! Can’t you see? This isn’t going to happen; no girl you steal is going to manage your ‘virgin’ birth! Let me go, let me go now and I’ll help you. I’ll speak in your defense and—”

He stuffed a wad of filthy burlap in her mouth and bound it around her head with another strip of the old tool bag.

The taste was horrendous; she could barely breathe. Maybe she’d ruin it all for him by choking to death before he could cut her to pieces, slit her throat.

“The time. The time! It’s coming, and then the sacrifices you and I have made will bring in the New World Order!” he informed her.

He was going to leave. Leave her there is misery.

Waiting . . .

Waiting for him to return and perform his ridiculous little ritual.

But first . . .

“Blood must be shed!” he told her, and smiling, he approached her with his giant, curved, shimmering and sharpened knife.