I am trying ok, I am trying hard to accommodate a different room for my readers and I hope my writing style is different, different in a good way.
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HUNGER thrives inside me as I take my target and swivel the wheel pushing forward the gear shift. "Fucker." I yell. I know my men and women are coming for me but damn I am loving the rush of adrenaline flowing inside my body like gigabyte pixels.
I eye the black car that increases its speed trying to reach my pace but I won't let this fucker be the pain in my butt. Whenever the car tries to take a side to overtake my car, I block the path and thanks to Umbria who provides the smooth pathway to increase our speed.
Gunshots fire in my direction making me groan in agony. Thankfully, the car is made bulletproof, or else the thunder of bullets may have taken a good toll. I open the glove compartment taking out a small green bomb that I always keep if any emergency arrives like this. I open the cap through my teeth and throw it at them.
The car explodes like firecrackers in the sky. When I was a kid I would look up and find those different sparks of crackers at night. When I asked my mom to give me those, she punished me by making me witness the actual fire blowing right in front of our house. I was sad not because the house got blown off but because of the trees that had to be victims of my mother's plan. No chirping of birds was heard after that and my fear and anxiety increased day by day.
My only gift from my mother was her eyes, the purple-eyed beauty that could grasp anyone and she did, slept with several men just to make my dead father jealous and at night she would come home with her body filled with new marks. At first, I was sad that she got those pain but later I realized that they were marks of bruises but evidence of her colorful night.
She presented me to several other customers she met just to break my hymen but in this matter, God was by my side and for the first time I believed in God who saved me from being forced by those filthy monsters. My skin didn't glow like how my mother did, my body was free from any marks, and then she started to paint with her famous spike belt making me memorize her emotional torture.
