[Critique Group 1] belated Leonard's comments on martia's work

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

Wow!  Thisis  a heart clutching episode. 



Does it stand alone?  



Is there more to her story. 



Does the story switch to a time before theattack? 



Is there light on the other side of thedarkness? Brilliantly written. Cudos.




 


Martia sub for jan 21




 



 


Prologue



375 words



 



 



Why was she working on a Saturday? Alone at theoffice all morning, she hadn’t accomplished much. Stuck inside on her computer,the late May weather hinted at summertime in Michigan, making it difficult toconcentrate. So what if she’d accepted a promotion that came with a bigger workload. It was a three-day holiday weekend, after all. If she ducked out soon,she’d have time for an afternoon bike ride around the lake with her friend. Sheslipped the spiral bound day timer for 1976 into a drawer and locked her desk.Car keys in hand, she reached for the push bar to enter the stairway. 



 



Seized gruffly from behind, the woman was too surprisedto scream. Her neck was clamped in the crook of an elbow, preventing her fromturning to see her attacker. Eyes bulging, she stared at the working edge of asharp hunting knife. Her head jerked back in reaction to the threat. Mascaraburned her eyes. The exit sign blurred. The assailant’s grip tightened on herthroat. Like an immovable boulder, the door to the stairway now blocked herescape.



 



Frightened to death, the woman stepped outsideherself and watched the struggle as if viewing a movie. She saw herself claw atthe powerful arm restraining her. The slice to her throat was so swift andclean that, at first, she didn’t feel the cut. Crimson tears trickled from thestinging wound. Forced off balance, the frantic woman lunged into the push bar andcollapsed onto the linoleum landing. The weight of her relentless attackercrashed down on top of her. A fierce scramble for control erupted. Would thedoe escape the grip of its hunter?



 



The heel of a boot landed one, two, three, fourkicks to her head. “Fuck you, fuck you” echoed in her ear like a jackhammer.The woman struggles onto her hands and knees, grasping for purchase. One pushby the predator and down she plunge, backward, head first. Her skull struck aconcrete step. The acrid smell of blood mingles with the stench of her loosenedbowels.



 



So, this is how my story ends? Eyes flickering,the dying woman recognized the killer grinning down at her in disgust, beforeher world went dark.



 



# # #



 



 



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