Sorry I Fell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Imagination Station
Life on the run can be just as exciting as living on the very edge of the world.

This is my story for Ever A. Darling's Interpretation Contest. My photo was 11.

Submitted: May 16, 2016

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Submitted: May 16, 2016

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Rising through the light of day,

nothing stopped her burning rage.

Nothing kept her from the light

that she held strong with all her might.

Nothing stopped when she stood still,

motionless, expression ill,

boneless,

fallen,

cut and dry,

nothing left in Scara’s eyes.

 

After finishing the final poem of her life, Scara Freeman leaned back and rested her head on the freshly fertile soil beneath her bruised skull. The sides of her body ached and her blood was pooling. She could tell. The red was seeping from the fresh wound in her shoulder, surrounding her slowing limbs in a warm, crimson blanket. The poetry she managed to scrawl with blood onto the wooden plank next to her, leaning against her devastatingly bland warehouse, gave her the brightest smile. It embodied her, her life, and everything she loved. Her light was dimming but these words before her would live on, right next to the place she loved calling home. The bodies of her two enemies sworn to death rested next to the small fire pit she had created before collapsing, now out and releasing smoke. It had created a warmth before that accompanied the bloody blanket that soothed her mind. The setting of the sun marked a new beginning, or perhaps even a violent end.

The air brought on a chill that dried her mouth, blowing the succulent aroma of burnt firewood in her direction. She took deep breaths, realizing that it was all over, understanding that she was finished. Her job was done. Her journey had been completed. Just in time, too, as her eyes were beginning to blur and violent coughing fits were bringing up innards she would rather not see. Scara’s mission ended when she killed the men her father sent after her.

She took this time, on the brink of what she thought was death, to think of what she had done to get to where she was now.

***

As a child, Scara was, in a word, rejected. Nobody loved her as much as her uncle did, which she started to understand as she came of age. Her parents despised her. She was accidental and she had felt that way ever since she found out. The Freemans were a wealthy family and they expected Scara to grow up the same way.

She had difficulty in school, known as the quiet girl who never really talked to anyone. If someone tried talking to her, she’d run. She always ran. When she was faced with a threatening situation, she would take off and never look back. She set her mind to getting as far away from the threat as possible. Normally, in school, she’d escape to the roof, where she’d write in her journal. Page after page was filled with a variety of words, from scribbled nonsense to beautiful metaphoric genius. Her talent was never discovered by the school system, as she feared the rejection that had taunted her for the duration of her short teenage life. She had made it to 23, her lucky number. She was glad that she wouldn’t be living any longer after what she’d seen.

Uncle Danny bought her gifts every weekend when she’d go to see him. Those were the highlights of her early years, and once she was able to drive, she was almost always with him. Her parents lived a lavish lifestyle that she never felt right living in. Money wasn’t a concern of hers; not because she was rolling in it, but because she didn’t care about having it. Her life was about living it by herself. When she went with Uncle Danny, it was about living it by herself, but with a dear friend of hers. She would read him her poetry in his trailer home, settled next to the tallest mountain in the area. He would clap and cheer and make her feel like the most talented girl in the world. She felt at home.

Uncle Danny and Scara’s father loathed each other with a passion. Whenever Scara went to visit Danny, Brutus Freeman would explode in anger. He’d always complain to Susan, Scara’s mother, about how Uncle Danny was teaching Scara ‘the ways of a killer’, as he liked to call it. While Susan wasn’t fond of Scara, she knew Brutus was exaggerating to the highest extent. If Scara enjoyed visiting Uncle Danny, she should be allowed to do so.

When Brutus erupted and drove over to the trailer home, Susan did nothing. She didn’t make an attempt to stop Brutus from doing whatever devilish deed he was clearly aiming to do. Scara hates her mother the most for that: her father had a reason, Danny had a reason, but her mother did not, and that’s why Scara nearly vomits at the thought of her. During one weekend, on a Sunday, Brutus broke and drove to the trailer home where Scara was reading her newest poem to Danny.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t ask for permission. The door to the trailer was quickly blown off by his brute force. Anybody looking on would expect the sounds to signify a police raid or an escaped convict. Scara, who was standing in front of her uncle reading her poetry, was pushed out of the way and onto the fuzzy carpet by her father, who then proceeded to strangle Uncle Danny.

Nothing scared her more than seeing her security being taken away. She lunged at her father, tears in her eyes, trying to pull him off of Danny, making every effort to keep him from death, until she started to hear the sirens. Next thing she knew, with a backswing of the arm by her father, Scara was unconscious and unable to react further.

She woke up in a warehouse in the middle of a forest she wasn’t familiar with. Uncle Danny was shaking her.

“Scara, please…” she remembers hearing, “I can’t do this alone. I need someone else.”

When she tried to speak, no words came out. Her mind was too frazzled by her father’s sudden entrance and the blackout altered her train of conscious. His words were muffled and so were her thoughts.

After a few hours of recuperation, a 15-year-old Scara was given the details by her uncle. Brutus was taken into custody, but very quickly released after being bailed out by Susan Freeman, his wife. They had plenty of money to make things happen. Brutus, shortly after his release, hired men to find and kill Danny and to take Scara into their hands, preferably alive. Danny knew he would do this. He’d done it before. To prevent immediate injury, Danny moved both him and Scara into a large forest in the middle of the mountains. His walk was difficult and harsh after being pummeled by Brutus, and the added weight of Scara didn’t help, but Danny was a strong, formidable man. With the right motive, he would never stop.

Again, Scara found herself running away from her problems. This time, it happened without choice. She preferred it that way.

The men after Danny and Scara, named Crow and Gabe, had been long-time friends of Brutus. They had helped him on what Brutus liked to call ‘business ventures’ and were always there when he needed them. This time was no different, but their task was much larger than either thought at first. It took them months, years, even, to discover the location of the runaways. 8 years, to be exact. They had only brushed over the mountains, never looking into them in depth. Uncle Danny had done well in covering his tracks when fleeing into the forest.

Gabe was the skinny, gangly one. He was in it for the money, nothing else. His mohawk dyed red and piercing eyes could scare anyone. Crow, on the other hand, was the businessman. He was in it to make a living. He considered what he did to be a steady job that would, therefore, earn him steady income. Crow had a family back at home. He had a nest to take care of. He made sure that he came home with something every day, even if it meant getting his hands bloody, figuratively or literally.

During their time of isolation, Danny and Scara grew closer than ever before. They went on hikes up the desolate parts of the mountain, making sure to take risky maneuvers whenever they could; both knew that they were capable of running away from captors, but by taking the dangerous route, they ensured their escape. They knew they were more agile than Crow and Gabe. The thugs weren’t as athletic since they spent a greater majority of their time drinking. Danny and Scara didn’t have that freedom, heightening their senses and even their intelligence accordingly.

When they first started hiking, Danny stopped her eager legs from leaving the warehouse and held her hand open.

“If anything happens,” he said, gripping her hand tightly, “I want you to have this. It’s the ring I’ve kept since childhood, always brought me good luck. I don’t want anything bad to happen to it. I’m giving it to you.”

He took the ring off of his finger and placed it on her ring finger for her, making butterflies rise in her stomach. She managed a shaky thank you before he leaned in and granted her a simple, gentle kiss on the forehead.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he whispered in her ear.

I don’t want anything to happen to you.

Those words stuck with her up until the day of her death. They meant more to her than the world. It was weird feeling these feelings for her uncle, but she didn’t want to reject them. She didn’t have to, either; nobody was there to tell her otherwise.

At night, they’d sleep in sleeping bags they had managed to find in the woods. There were two, and each was plenty big to fit either one of them, but on some nights, the cold air got to Scara. The warehouse was open, as there was no glass in the windows and the door was completely broken. The wind blew in from all directions. Danny always offered a space in his bag, which Scara graciously accepted in her time of need. He was warm, and so strong, and so kind, that Scara never wanted to leave him. Her head was able to perfectly rest in the space on his shoulder, somehow giving her some ease in a time as urgent and nerve-wracking as this.

To get food, Danny would often make a trek back into the city in avoidance of any people that might’ve been around to see his escape. Scara would stay back to gather any necessary materials, including firewood, safe berries, and nuts scattering the ground. The forest was ample with resources. The uncle’s trips into the urban areas were usually successful.

On one particular trip, Danny wasn’t so lucky.

Gabe and Crow had been making their rounds, this time around the mountainous area, slowly growing tired of looking for the same two people. It had been years with no luck, and Brutus was growing old and sickly. They had been hoping that maybe he’d die off before they would find the girl. That way, they wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. They had plenty of other jobs and Brutus was expendable. They had known that the whole time. They weren’t done just yet, though, so when they saw a man resembling the face they had been studying all this time, they were hot on his trail. The goal was to kill, but to also find the girl, so they sat and waited at first.

Danny did his business at various stores, picking up only what he needed. People gave him dirty looks, as his disheveled appearance always unnecessarily gifted him those. The stares were unwanted presents. Crow and Gabe watched as Danny then made his way back into the mountains, following him silently from behind. They hopped betwixt bushes and leapt through towering trees as the uncle was unknowingly leading himself to more danger than he wished to be in.

Once reaching the warehouse, Scara greeted him with a hospitable smile. He set the groceries down next to one of the empty warehouse windows and gave her a wonderful hug ending in a light kiss on the cheek. The fools in the bushes were watching, readying their weapons. Gabe had a knife while Crow had a pistol and a blade. They were prepared to kill, and they knew who the first victim would be.

They waited until Uncle Danny left Scara for a small trek up one of the mountainous trails. She waved and Gabe motioned for Crow to follow him. Gabe was to stay with Scara and to knock her unconscious while Crow would take care of Danny. That’s what they had decided before, and that’s the plan they’d be sticking to.

Scara sat down in the grass and looked out over the cliff of the land that held the warehouse, admiring the sun’s rays that reflected off of the homes of the city. She had never seen a more beautiful sight, as she always liked sunsets. She had written poem after poem about them. She held onto the ring on her finger, but before she could truly bask in the warmth of the sun, Scara was interrupted.

Behind her, she heard a cough.

It wasn’t Danny’s cough.

She was sitting down, incredibly close to the side of a steep cliff, and somebody was near her that she didn’t know. Her father? Susan? A friend? The bad men? Her mind rolled off the possibilities, reading through the list of names in her head at an incredible rate. She bolted around and saw a dark figure with a red mohawk, his face made evident by the light from the sun. He winced and pointed and began to run at the girl.

Scara was trembling. Scara was terrified. She hadn’t seen another person in years aside from Danny. She felt and looked like an animal. The voices in her head started yelling, screaming, shouting at her to move, but she just couldn’t. She knew she was dead, right then and there. She knew he would either push her off or take her away and she’d never see Danny again.

Suddenly, from the side, Danny appeared, pushing her away from danger, somehow managing to save her.

Gabe continued running after Danny had shoved Scara to the side, but he didn’t run off the cliff. Instead, he had fallen to the ground. Danny’s shirt was splattered with blood, which concerned Scara at first. Danny had to point to Crow’s dead body behind the warehouse to assure Scara that he was okay. A glistening, crimson knife rested next to his body.

Danny made sure Scara was safe and stood up, unprepared for when Gabe knocked him down back to the ground, perilously close to the edge of the cliff. Scara couldn’t watch but she had to do something. She had to do something.

She couldn’t run away this time.

She had to do something.

Just like before, Scara pulled and pulled at his jacket, praying that he’d let go of Danny, praying that he’d be okay, praying that somehow he’d escape the deadly chokehold of Gabe. It wasn’t working. Scara understood this, ran to grab the knife next to Crow, and plunged the knife down into Gabe without hesitation.

What she got to see before blacking out from her own wound was Danny’s chest being punctured by Gabe’s own knife, ending his life for good and shattering Scara’s world into thousands of indecipherable pieces.

***

What happened after that didn’t matter to the girl. Danny had managed to cut a main artery in Gabe’s arm with his own knife before Gabe killed him. Shortly after, Danny was dead, and as Gabe began profusely bleeding out, screaming in a frenzy over the blood pouring from his arm, he pulled the knife out of Danny and stabbed Scara directly in the shoulder, knocking her out and dazing her for a few seconds. Scara then wrote her final poem after coming to and proceeded to bleed out steadily.

It was now raining, but Scara’s poem was protected by the small roof of the warehouse. It was safe from smearing. Danny and Gabe were dead next to the extinguished fire pit. They both bled out quickly in comparison to her. Crow was dead behind the house. Scara was the only one alive.

I don’t want anything to happen to you. His words still chimed in her ears and his silver ring still latched onto her finger. She turned her head over to the sun and saw it’s beauty, finally going to rest, and reached her hand out to it. She so wanted to grab onto the light, to live some more, to finish her life the way it was meant to be finished. Fate does weird, unfortunate things to those who aren’t deserving of pain. Scara had accepted this.

Rising through the light of day, nothing stopped her burning rage.

Her sight was leaving her.

Nothing kept her from the light that she held strong with all her might.

Her pulse began to slow.

Nothing stopped when she stood still, motionless, expression ill.

The ring on her hand was all that mattered now. She knew he would never leave her. They’d be together again someday.

Boneless, fallen, cut and dry…

The last glimpse of movement from her body was a smile. It remained as her hand collapsed, as the ring fell to the ground, and as her heart halted its movements.

 

Nothing left in Scara’s eyes.

 

 

Word Count: 2,957


© Copyright 2017 Hanorbi. All rights reserved.

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