Prelude: Fragments
Run.
Faster. Harder.
Stumble.
Don’t trip. Not again.
Fear. Agony.
Lungs burning. Legs aching.
Can’t give out.
Not yet.
Just a little further.
Rinse. Wash. Repeat.
Just a little further.
Just a little further.
Loose rock.
Ankle twisting, going down.
No, no, no.
The ground is hard, cold, slightly damp against hot skin. Cuts sting and scabs pull, bruises throb and muscles scream, and the world blurs.
Lungs constricting painfully.
Is surviving still an option?
Or is the only hope left to die with minimal pain?
No-
There’s more to live for.
It’s worth more than dying like this.
Hopefully.
Get up, hurry.
Standing hurts, and it feels like it takes minutes, paranoia settles in.
They’re close.
Running is no longer an option.
Howling echoes in the distance.
Blood freezes, heart stops.
Run.
It hurts, burning like fire and harsh stabbing, but it’s all there is left.
Pain means life,and life means a chance.
Just one.
Cartilage and joint fluid crunch, mentally audible while physically agonizing.
Don’t stop.
Slipping past thick shrubbery, hopeful in its ability as a suitable cover.
Grip branches, keep balanced.
Keep moving.
There’s no light here, the moon unable to shine through the thick growth of the forest, it’s black all around.
Careful.
Don’t let go of the trees.
Reach.
Grab.
Branch.
Again.
Reach. Grab. Branch.
Reach. Grab. Branch.
Reach. Grab. Branch.
Reach. Grab- Grabbed.
Too tight.
Yellow burns bright.
Yank away.
Nothing.
Harder.
Useless.
Harder-
Jerked. Wretched. Wrong way.
Something snaps.
Pain. Fire. Agony.
Screaming.
Laughter.
Pushed.
Pulled.
Hands.
So many hands.
Gripping, pulling.
Scratching, bleeding.
Still screaming.
Ripping, tearing.
More yellow, more laughing.
More burning.
More screaming.
The stench of copper is nauseating, the feel is slick against clammy skin. Too much lost, what little can be seen is fading into nothingness.
A sudden howl, new, deeper- bone shaking.
Screams, too close, too loud.
Snarling, growling, snapping.
Silence.
Trembling, unable to breathe, everything’s spinning.
Footsteps, gentle, calculated.
Too hurt to move, arms too heavy to push away.
Warm hands, big, strong.
Soft.
Lifting, careful of jostling.
Held close, pressed into heated skin.
Moving.
A timbre voice, calm and soothing.
A comforting hum.
Inaudible assurances.
Safe. Warm. Hope.
A welcomed sensation, followed by a familiar darkness.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Repetitive. Grating.
The air is cold and dry.
Cheap cotton thin and rough.
Itches.
Doesn’t smell like death.
Smells clean.
Sterile.
Hospital.
Need to wake up.
It’s bright, eyes burn.
Left arm numb. Heavy. Unmoving.
Blink. Adjust.
Everything’s white. Lifeless.
Get up.
Left foot.
Cold floor.
Right foot.
Bad idea.
Pain.
Falling.
It’s dark, trapped in the dense trees, yellow eyes everywhere.
Run.
Can’t get up. Hurts.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep.
Too loud.
Voices, crowded and overlapping, indistinguishable from another.
Hands.
So many hands, claws drag across skin, so much blood, skin searing with pain.
Panic.
Can’t breathe.
Push, shove, get away.
Can’t moved, pinned down.
Hot breath fans across clammy skin, threats slurred against a throbbing pulse.
Can’t breathe.
Grabbed. Pulled.
Hurts.
Screaming, arm dangling useless and mangled, bone torn through skin and splintered. Laughter, loud and condescending, echoing in the darkness, louder than the pain.
Get away.
Can’t breathe.
Another voice.
Deep. Timbre. Bone shaking.
Hands gone, replaced by large warm ones.
Soft murmurs, breath returning.
“It’s going to be alright, I’ve got you, you’re safe now.” Soft murmurs against dirty and tangled hair, gentle as the forest begins to thin.
Safe.
