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I

She had no choice:
The lines on the page reached out to her.
They drew her in with their siren's call,
Inquisitive tendrils exploring her face
Tickling her palms
Encircling her waist.
Too late, she realised their true intentions
And smiles stopped.
An adjective seized hold of her wrist
And others followed suit, advancing,
Binding her hands. She was blinded.
Brackets pinned her down and the barrage began.

II

I am here still.
Each bullet from the armoury
Pounds me harder than the last
As I scrabble for my only weapon.
At last I find what I've been looking for:
My trembling hands close around
The reassuring solidity of the barrel.
I feel it, cold and close,
Working my way upwards
Until I reach its inky trigger at last.