Hunted
Copyright 2011 Molly Rogers
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He ran.
The light was fading in the dense jungle, leeching colors away, leaving behind a confusing plane of grays and blacks that made it hard for him to judge distance and depth. The branches clawed at his face and arms as he plowed through any empty space he could find in the tangle of plant life that was blocking his escape.
His legs felt like lead and his lungs were burning. Time was an idea that had lost meaning to him; running was all he knew.
No, that wasn't true. There was something else he knew; knew with a conviction so deep that it was a part of his mangled soul.
Fear.
He knew that if he stopped running, it would find him and his life would be no more.
That was what pushed him on when his battered body would have him lie down and surrender.
He had no way of knowing what direction he was moving in but it hardly mattered. Every step forward was another step he took in the land of the living and even though he was trapped in a hellish nightmare, death would be worse.
Tiny rivulets of blood ran down his face, mingling with the sweat that poured from his skin and reeked with the desperation and terror that had taken over his entire being. He had no idea who he was or where he had come from because his mind understood that those things were no longer important anymore. His mind had broken many miles before and now could only hold on to the idea of survival.
That was all he wanted, to live; but life was being stripped away from him with every footfall on the rotted mat of decaying organic matter that had built up under the canopy of trees that had grown for so long no one alive remembered them as anything other than towering monsters that devoured the sunlight and deprived everything beneath them of the life-giving rays of the sun. The only things that subsisted in the eerie half-light world under the living green ceiling were things that preferred the dark, things that thrived on decomposition, things that lived through death. Just like the thing that was following him now.
The light was almost too faint now to be worthy of the term. The shadows had grown so large and so thick that it was impossible to tell the difference between the solid trunks of trees and the voids that could offer release if he were just able to get through them fast enough. A few hot tears leaked out of his eyes as he was choked by a feeling of frustration at not knowing how long he could keep going without being able to see. His pace was brought down to a crawl as he had to start using his hands to feel his way around.
Snap.
His heart began to pound furiously in his chest, his head whipped around to try and peer through the impenetrable blackness that surrounded him to no avail.
Snap.
He put his fist in between his teeth and bit down hard on the knuckle of his first finger in an effort to stifle the horrified scream that so badly wanted to issue forth from his mouth. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree behind him and slowly lowered himself down to the fetid ground.
His ears strained to listen for any more signs of his relentless hunter but he could hear nothing over the frantic rush of blood through his veins. His heart was struggling madly to get away from the chest of a man who was doomed to die; hearts are organs of life, they strive always to escape from the clutches of death. As if every beat was taking his heart one step closer to freedom, it pounded away at the wall of his ribs in its desperate pursuit of release.
Panic set into his brain as he became convinced that the sound of his pulse was audible for miles around. His breathing increased to a frenzied rush as the sweat, blood and tears ran down his face and dripped over the hands he held over his mouth in an attempt to quell the storm of fright that had taken away control of his body and left him a shivering, gasping mess.
Snap.
A dreadful sob tore free from his throat as he heard that sound again.
There was no chance for escape now. It was too dark to see and the jungle was too thick to offer a chance at flight through the darkness.
He lost control of his body as his brain accepted that this was the end. Only his heart continued to believe in hope as it hammered harder than ever against the restrictions of the weak human shell that encompassed it.
He was shivering so badly that he didn't even feel the cold metal as it slid neatly along the side of his throat; the steel so sharp that it didn't even tug at the skin as it sliced cleanly through the muscle, cartilage and arteries that had, until now, held this man together.
There was no noise to let him know what had happened. There was no time to wonder if it could have been different.
There was no moment where he felt his connection to the world of life sever as his vision dimmed to match the shadowy blackness of the jungle that surrounded him while his blood pumped out to coat the ground around him in a deep red embellishment to the monument to death that was the night.
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This was kicking around in my head for a couple of weeks now and it wouldn't let me concentrate on anything else until I got it out so I hope you enjoy this little piece.
It is kind of a study in how to write a story using the most minimal characterization possible. So if it doesn't make much sense, that's why.
Please let me know what you think of this and Vote! For the Watty's! So Please Vote!
Thanks.
