Another Flash Fiction Group- this one less structured- instead of ten takes on one picture, everyone chooses their own picture and then writes 250 words.
This is my first pic
No Way Out
Clang. Whirrr. Clang.
Yul took stock of his prison. The small windowless room had no other exit than the one so dramatically locked behind him. It resembled a remodeled bank vault. A thin air mattress with white sheets lodged against one wall.
Bare walls, bare floor. Nothing he could use to escape. He was here until he complied with their wishes.
Yul stretched across the mattress, relaxing as he lit a cigarette. Would setting the mattress and sheets on fire gain him anything? There was no alternative. He picked up the knife, tested the blade with his thumb. It was sharp, he kept it that way.
Cigarettes and his pocket knife wouldn't get him out of this alive. He could cut up the sheets, then what? Strangle himself?
He didn't want to die.
He'd have to "donate" the blood they wanted and hope like hell the foul things kept their word and released him before they realized that he was no more a fucking virgin than he was president. "Pint of virgin blood freely given." He muttered drawing the blade along the fine lines of his palm and up his forearm. Slice open a vein and measure out a pint.
Snorting, he dragged the blade down and tapped the button of his fly, traced the waistband of his jeans. Idiot asked the wrong question.
"Have you ever fucked a woman?"
"No, never." It was the one damn thing he'd never done. He'd fucked plenty of men, been fucked by more.