The Hidden World

The Walk

The air was crisp and cool. It was a decent fall night. The sun was in the middle of setting, and Abigail needed to clear her head. There had been so much going on lately: school, her parents, and the world was a wreck. For some reason, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around everything. So she did the one thing that she knew would clear her head: She decided to go for a walk.

She grabbed her light jacket and headed out the door, not even bothering to tell anyone where she was going. She headed out into the street and began to walk down the road. The street lights were beginning to turn on already. She hated how it got darker faster in the fall and winter; it annoyed her.

As she walked, she looked around. Some of her neighbors were out on their porches reading books. Others were sitting out on their driveways, looking up at the night sky, which was unusually clear that night. She could smell smoke and noticed that one of her other neighbors was having a campfire in their backyard. Muffled laughs filled the air, and she could see the silhouette of someone making a s'more. The neighborhood where she lived was all right, but she knew that it wasn't where she belonged. She had always had a feeling of needing something more.

She turned back and looked straight ahead. There was so much that she needed to think about that it seemed to cloud everything else over. She knew that if she wanted to get this off her mind, she would need to think this through, one by one.

 School had always been a rough place for her. She had never been that good at making friends. Sure, she had her select few, but other than that, there was no one. Except for the mean girls. They always cared, but not in the way she wanted people to care.

You're so ugly, they would say, to which she would reply with, Stop insulting yourself, it's bad for your mental health.

Why are you so stupid? they would ask, and she would reply with something along the lines of, Oh, please, I'm twice as smart as you'll ever be.

You'll never be good enough, they would tell her, and she would usually reply with, I may not be good enough for you, but I'm proud of myself and that's all that matters, but sometimes she would say, I know, and they would be thrown off. That would usually keep them quiet for a day or two, giving her some time to recuperate before they tore her down again.

She would never let them see that the stuff they said actually got to her. She would always keep it hidden deep down where no one would ever find it—not even her. Some days she forgot that all of that was happening. She would put on her fake smile and get ready to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders. Other days she would know it was there. It would be bubbling up to the surface, but she refused to show the rest of the world her true feelings. But there were also days where she simply didn't feel anything. It was like no one and nothing existed. It would feel like she was shouting into the void when she talked. It would feel like she was nothing.

As she thought about this, she realized that it only made her feel worse. But she knew that if she didn't think about it, it would just be another burden she would have to carry. She knew that she would feel worse before she would feel any better.

As for her parents, they were no better. They were always on her about everything. It wasn't that they were helicopter parents—they were far from it—they were simply just annoying. How was your science test? they would ask. It was fine. I got a ninety-five percent, she would reply. Why didn't you get a one hundred percent?

Stuff like that would always happen. They would always comment on her appearance or her body. They would always ask her why she couldn't be as pretty as the other girls. They would always ask her why she wasn't smart. They didn't understand how much what they said hurt. They didn't understand how much she hid. They didn't understand.

One of these days, she thought, I'm going to take their sick, twisted minds and egos and shove them up their—

Abigail realized that she had reached a dead-end in the road. The woods stood in front of her. She had always hated the woods. There were so many things there that she had to watch out for. The bugs were annoying. She had to make sure that she didn't get any fleas or ticks. She had to watch out for wild animals. She had to watch for creepers who hid and were looking for girls like her.

She knew she should turn around and head back down the road, but the whispers on the wind seemed to be calling out to her. They seemed to be saying, Come, come into the woods and see what's here. Come.

She began to walk towards the woods—possibly against her better judgment. She walked towards a path and began to wander among the trees. She could hear the whistling of the wind through the trees. It blew her auburn hair out of her face. She looked up and could see a sliver of the moon peeking out through the canopy of the treetops.

She snapped her head down when she heard a rustling in the distance. She looked around, but she couldn't see anything but shadows.

There was another rustling, and she began to look all around. "Who's there?" she called. She immediately regretted it. She didn't watch horror movies, but she knew enough to know that whoever called "who's there" was almost always instantaneously killed. "Hello?"

There was something that moved towards her out of the shadows, and she could have sworn that it looked like a wolf. It darted towards her and before she knew it, she was on the ground.

She looked up and she could now more than clearly see that it was, in fact, a wolf. It was standing on top of her, lips curled back, shiny white teeth showing.

She was breathing heavily now. Fear was starting to set in. What did this wolf want from her? Was it going to kill her?

The wolf began to sniff her up and down. It backed up to about her mid-thigh and raised one of its paws. It slashed down at her leg, ripping her skin open. She let out a loud scream—which was something that she usually wouldn't have done, for she hated showing her pain to the world—as the wolf did it. It took one last look at her before running off.

Her leg was in excruciating pain. It burned, and she could feel it up and down from her thigh to her ankle. There were shooting pains, the worst that she had ever felt. And all she could do was lay there.

She let the pain take her. She let it wash away all her worries. She was certain that she was bleeding out; she was certain that this was what death felt like. The darkness came over her, and she welcomed it, seeing that there wasn't much else she could do. She felt the nothingness coming to take her. She was nothing.