Out of Reach

You wake up. Mouth dry, back sore, head throbbing. You try to roll over to struggle up to your feet, but... The leather straps restraining your wrists won't let you. You test each limb, one by one. Nothing is free. The most you can do is turn your head to take in your surroundings. You seem to be strapped to the floor in a toolshed. There aren't any windows you can see from this vantage point, so you can't tell the time of day. The shed is lit dimly, presumably by a lamp outside your vision. It's a mess, fluids you don't want to identify staining most exposed surfaces. Tools are strewn around the room, equally stained. Actually... There. Near your right hand. A wickedly sharp knife, sharp enough to cut through the strap holding your wrist, you think. Just a matter of getting it in hand. You reach out toward it, but the strap holds you back about a centimeter away from the tip of the handle. You let out a groan, already starting to feel fatigued from the effort. Spending however long you've been on this harsh wood floor without water isn't conducive to physical performance, it seems. Gritting your teeth, you press forward harder, the strap beginning to dig into your arm as you struggle to get more of it through the firm leather loop. You just need the barest hint of purchase to get it, you're quite dextrous. Just a fingertip is all it will take. The longer you push, the more you feel a sharp pain in your wrist. More, just a little more. You can see a few drops of blood beginning to bead up around the near edge of the strap. It's so close, so fucking close, you can't stop now, you have to reach it before whoever put you here c-

You let out a yelp as the flow of blood begins in earnest. Definitely ruptured a vessel. Your arm is on fire, shrieking at you each time the wound grazes the strap. There's no way you can keep pushing it in this state. You've missed your chance. You lie still, and wait.