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The Death of Ester Jitska

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Mercy    484

Death of Ester Jitska


She stared the man cold in the eyes, her heart pounding against her rib cage as her breath quickened. They both stood there, like some sort of Mexican stand off. “So this is where one of us dies?” She spat with disgust, her thick chernarussian accent spewing out fluently. The man's face shadows from the trees which hung over him revealed a smug smirk in the light. He raised his gun to her, aiming towards her chest. “You best not miss you motherfucker!” She screamed at him as he gestured her to drop the magnum. Her hand let go of the cold metal gun as it smacked the ground with a large thud. “Move it Ester. Hands up. Best not of called Alexsej or anyone else you know, you know what? How about you drop that radio too sweetie?” He chuckled with a sinister tone, clearly enjoying this whole situation. “You knock me sick!” She tucked her hand into her vest and threw the radio on the ground, some of the plastic breaking off from it. “Now walk.” He demanded, the barrel of his gun digging into her spine, “And hands up!” She put her hands up, walking forwards into the black forest. Throughout her travel she wondered what her life was and was going to of been. “Once they find out a foreigner like you shot a native like me...” She laughs, amused with the situation, “... You're dead!” The man pulled the trigger below her feet. She didn't flinch, a sarcastic comment escaped for her lips, “What did the ground do to you? Eh?”

The man gritted his teeth, “Keep. Walking.” Ester knew exactly where the man was leading her, back to Gorka. The place where her life had fallen into a dark place. As she walked silently through the back of her head she remembered everything that had happened. Coming home to her slaughtered family, the necks sliced open. Thick fresh blood covering the newly paved wallpaper and the wooden floor stained with boot marks and blood which sunk through the cracks of the floor. Her baby brother tucked away in his bed, neck freshly opened, his white sheets soaked with pure red colouring. Blood. Her baby sister, in her cradle. Hacked to death. And her parents, her mother on the floor. Nightgown smeared with the same colour as everywhere else. Her father holding his neck, in a rigor mortis state. Dead. Ester stood in the middle of the forest, tears forming in her eyes as she shuck her head violently. The woman's voice breaking, “No! I know what you're doing! No! I'm not going there!” She turned to the man, the gun now poking at her throat. “You die now, or you can live. Understand!?” He dug the barrel harder which pushed her back to keep her moving, a tear strolling down her face. He grabbed her arm, nails dug into her bicep as he yanked her around, pushing her with the gun on the back of her head.

They arrived at the house. Her house. The house that she had come home after a party with her friends, to see the result of her family murdered. She stopped on her tracks, the man impatiently pushing her until she tripped up the steps. Hands landing on the cobbled floor to the front door of her house. “Please!” She begged, fingernails gripping onto the floor with the pain in her heart crying to make the memories stop flooding back. The male smacked the cap from her head, grabbing her greasy blond flocks and dragging her up to the house, she screamed in pain holding his wrists and trying to make him let go. Her body slid on the marble and wooden floor, the woman, Ester began to breath with a panicky pace. Memories flooding, and all she could do was curl up into a ball holding her ears like she could hear screams. “No no no! Stop them screaming! Please!” The woman was loosing her mind, she wanted to take her own time coming back to her home. But obviously that didn't happen. He yanked the woman's (Ester's) head up to stare him in the eyes without noticing another man in the corner, holding a sharp blade from his combat boot. He held her hair from the distance before cutting it from her head, her blond flocks no more. Tears soaking the lower half of her face, she spat at the man. Spit bursting onto his face, he wiped it from his face before kicking her in the face. 

“Now you little bitch! You going to give me what I want to live or are we going to have to do this the hard way!?” The man grinned as Ester held her cheek from the painful kick to her face. He pushed her by her throat, boot holding her in place to the ground. The faded blood stain of what was once someone else in her home town. “And what would that be?” She chocked, surprisingly the man new about her past. After her family died she became homeless, refusing to be taken in by carers or guardians. She wanted to be in her own world, one which would help her cope. And the only way she could get money was selling her body to both friends and strangers. She was an ex-prostitute. If only she knew another way of getting money to feed herself and buy herself clothes it wouldn't or perhaps come around like this in her current situation.... But... It did.

“You know exactly what I'm on about whore!” Her eyes stared at him, a shocked expression draining her face. She sneered with unamusement, hissing, “Fuck. You!” He pressed the tip of his boot into her windpipe, beginning to choke her. She tried not showing expression until she began drowning with lack of oxygen. She gripped onto his ankle trying to pull him off, gasping for air. His friend kneeled to each side of her head, pinning her arms down to her side. They both laughed, watching the woman become paler in the skin. Her vision became to become unpaired, seeing double of the two men before blacking out. Dead? Not yet.

If felt like she had suffered from a deep dream, she groaned, trying to feel the voice she could create rumble in her throat. Her head heavy at the start as she opened her eyes, blinded by a torch. “C'mon, wake up you fucking slut.” One of the men slapped her on the face, it was going to leave a temporary mark. She raised her head with a frown of retaliation, trying to move her arms but the where hung to the ceiling fan. Restricting her from her own movement, the rope was short forcing her to stretch her body to be able to stand straight. Her shirt open from the lower part of her torso up to her worn bra. “I always heard foreign girls bring out the best when they're weak.” He laughed, his lips closing up to hers as his alcohol coated breath cascaded over her lips before plunging a forceful kiss onto her lips. Ester was still trying to collect herself, and the kiss was like an electric shock to jump start her up again. With reaction she continued with the kiss, sucking on the bottom of his lip and pulling a little before letting him have his lip back. She hadn't noticed the room she was in. His face was straight up into hers. Again he demanded another kiss holding onto her waist and pushing up his body against her. He thought this was going to go his way until her teeth sank into his lip biting as hard as she could until she tore his bottom lip from his face. He screamed, a cry of a man as she spat out the chunk of flesh. Mouth smothered in blood. “FUCK YOU!” She screamed at him violently, trying to get out of the restraints.

The male with the now missing lip held his face, not knowing what to do. His friend rushed up the stares as she noticed the cradle. Her baby sister's cradle. “You mother fuckers are going to fucking die you fucking cowards!” Her voice breaking as she forced herself to scream, heat raising to her neck and sides of her face in anger. “How about we solve this out?” The man pulled out the pistol as she froze on the spot, she was finally going to be put out of her misery. Wrong. The man shot both arms in or close to her biceps. Her reaction said it all, she whaled in pain. Unable to hold herself up any more. The male cut her from the ropes as she dropped to the floor, her whole body suffering from shock. Mixed signals sent throughout her nervous system. The man dragged her by her ankle, and throwing her down the stairs. She tumbled and bounced off of the wooden panels until she met face down on the cold marble floor. She coughed, her body surging with aching pains and possibly broken bones, she pushed her rubber soled boot on the stone floor trying her best to attempt to escape. They both travelled down to the vunerable woman, boot smacking down onto her spine. “I'm coming Frida... Sestra... Alojz... Bratr... Matka...” She managed to choke from her lungs. “Shut the fuck up!” Again the man with the missing lip spat, blood landing all across her back as the kicked her in the ribs. Pulling her onto her back. Her breathing was mearly a wheeze. It was fading, as she kept fighting to breath. Fighting to think of hope of living but she wouldn't live. This was the end. And she knew it. So why was she still breathing? Why was she still putting up a fight...?

“Lord... Grant me the g-gates to h-eav-en...” Her eyes rolled to the side with the following movement of her head. She was paralysed from loosing a lot of blood and thrown about like a rag doll. The man without the missing lip pulled the pistol towards her head. “No.” The man with the missing lip pushed his chest a little, attempting to talk, “I have a much better plan for her...” He pulled the rusting blade from his bag, two in fact. Handing one to his friend, blood dripping from his chin like some sort of feral cannibal. The hummed with a wicked smile, the song was 'O'Death' with grunts, the blades piercing through her body. Over and over and over and over again. Her screams began to fade into silence as her head flopped to the side, blood pouring from the corner of her lip. Her body limp and opened up to to the fresh air. Finally Ester's blood spilled across the floor years later after her family's. In the same house. But one thing which would haunt those if they only knew. All her family died upstairs, Ester was the only one in her family whom died downstairs. The blood of Ester travelled through the cement cracks in the floor, travelling underneath the door and dripping from the front door of her home. Left there with eyes open.

Now she saw what hell looked like. Until one whom would come across her with the decency to close her eyes. Or cover them with something as she froze into a rigor mortis state overtime....

O God,

by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest,

send your holy Angel to watch over this grave.

Through Christ our Lord.


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Goku    61

This. Is. Brilliant! The song was perfect. I will now have to try and match you with a story for Slavomir.

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