Come Wayward Souls

Bursting Through

Snatching up the golden scissors and racing back to the dying boy, Dipper began frantically stabbing and cutting the vines and branches wherever they were thin enough.
The tiny, beautiful scissors were remarkably sharp and strong, not breaking under the huge pressure Dipper applied, pressing down on them to cut some of the toughest branches.

The boy spluttered and wriggled, trying to get his hands free. Vines encased these too; they wrapped around his fingers, growing as quick as Dipper cut. They round themselves round and round the boy's forearms and fingers, snaking over his stomach and neck, blocking his airway, choking his chest.

"No!" Dipper yelled again, wrenching the tiny golden blades even harder, trying with all his might...

"Hey..." The boy managed to cough. A splatter of black tree sap slurted from his lips as he made the huge effort to speak. His face was contorted in pain. "It's okay. It's too late."

"No!" Dipper sobbed. "No, I'm getting you out!"

"Stop..." The boy cried. He seemed to be in unbareable pain.

But Dipper wouldn't stop. He couldn't. Not now that he had begun. The fate of this boy rested in his hands now, and he would not let him die.

He wrenched and sliced, his hands a blur, and slowly, slowly but surely, the branched began to recoil. They round back away from the boy instead of around him, and then all of a sudden he fell out of the tree onto the grass.