Try to Leave

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to make my quota today,” you say trying to leave.

The man grabs you by the wrist.

“Have a beer,” he says with a toothy smile. You can feel his eyes looking at you less like a man and more like a piece of meat.

“Get off me!” You yell.

You see several people passing by looking on with great interest. But none come to your aid. The men seem to be laughing and the women seems to be staring at you blankly or ignoring you completely.

The man pulls you into the house and throws you onto the couch. “I’m gonna call the cops,” you say pulling out your phone, but he knocks it out of your hand, he stands over your prone form.