#MakeAMonster day 18: Stripey

 

Stripey

I wouldn’t give him my bag. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Please, I can’t.’ So he took his knife and whipped it across my cheek.

The bag was still in my hand, but now I couldn’t think: every fibre of my attention was on the gash in my face, on how to stop staggering, how to hold still so the pain didn’t split me open. How to keep the blood from dripping down. 

‘That’s the second time I’m asking,’ he said. ‘Don’t make me ask a third.’

‘I – I can’t give you the bag,’ I said. ‘Please don’t ask me. I’ll ...