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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
In this short story, Estellia, a young orphan with no guidance to where she should go, sets out out on her beginning journey to set herself anew. But of course nothing ever does go exactly to plan.

*This short story is part of trilogy in the works, but is the idea of who Estellia will become.*

Submitted: August 01, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 01, 2016



Breathe. A moment of silence to the man I seek for; a moment of silence to his auguring death surely ahead. How I plea this stand-off to finalize differently but fate would no longer be in my favor. It hasn’t for a while.

In the distance my ears pick up the sound of creaky rolling wheels onto dirt gravel- crunching against the wooden spheres. Three hours I have been waiting for him; patiently my glove covered hands tighten on the string and grip of the bow.

Flexing my toned exhausted arms, slowly I begin the process of arming the arrow to bow. My short quick breaths decelerate to long drawn out exhales. I can do this. The constant pounding of my heart quickens; a million of undocumented thoughts running through my head.

The carriage nears. My dark roughly worn boots stick against the branch of the Oally tree, my stance ready for anything. In eye distance I see the carriage, two horses held captive by an officer.

A short disbelief gasp escapes from the heart shape form of my lips. My heart spoke in hush, insisting I turn away-forget a prize like this to even exist. My brain on the other hand, screamed that I take the shot, the plan to continue on without a hitch.

This man I have seen before. He holds a secret of mine I have not seen or spoken of for years. He knew my weakness. I should turn and run far away, but there had to be a reason why he chose this road, my road.

Without thinking twice I release the string that now imprinted into my gloves. I watch closely as the arrow glides smoothly across the thoroughfare and sinking itself into a tree. The rope attached lingered on my bow, the hook shaking against the hole in the riser.

Quickly I detach the hook and clip it onto the rope I tied around the tree. The carriage now lined in the position I calculated it to be in; I made my move. Taking a handle and clip from my satchel I connect it to the hook. I inhale a deep breath before grasping tight and push off the branch.

I sore across the dirt path, releasing my grip as I drifted above the roof of the carriage. My stomach chokes up to my throat as I free fall and drop to a crouch onto the roof in a ‘thump’.

The carriage immediately halts, a silent confusion coming from the man. In quick reaction I roll off the roof and drop to the dirt road. From the holder of my arrows, I slide out a single arrow that earlier I dipped in the most deadly weapon to ever be used, El Doniyae poison.

I stick my weapon of choice on the arrow rest, my fingers forcing the string back. I step hesitantly and quietly. Before turning the corner to the driver’s seat, I pause. Have I really come to this point? I could retrieve money anywhere, yet here I am attempting to steal tax money to survive.

Is it really worth it?


I shake from self-doubt and leap to the side of the driver’s seat. I trip a step back as the man stands across from me, the only space being the seat between us.

In his hand he holds a rare object, a pistol gun. My throat tightens as he cocks the gun, it pointing to my temple. My teal eyes stare into his frightened brown. Realization hits him as he finds to see that it happened to be me stealing from the kingdom once again.

His once terrified pale face alternated to disappointment and relief. He heaves a heavy sigh, shaking his head in distress.

“Estellia again, really?” He asks, his voice croaky and low.

I stand tall, my hand tightening on the string. I manage myself to not respond to the man. Noticing that I will not speak willingly, the man who better known as Johnston, continued to speak,

“Do you ever stop and think, ‘maybe what I am doing is hurting more than I think?’ If you turn away I will not speak any of this to higher authorities.”

I scoff, “Johnston you do not understand anything I am going through. I cannot just turn away. I need this money and am willing to do anything to get it.”

Johnston’s throat clenches, “Well then, Estellia drop your bow and keep your hands up.”

I rolled my eyes, “Johnston,”

“Estellia do as I say or I will have to put you down, and I really do not want to do that to you. I found you and your mother when you first arrived here two years ago; you are too young to be joining your family up in the heavens now.” 

My heart beat slows, his words repeating through my head. ‘You are too young to be joining your family up in the heavens’. I stand frozen, not knowing how to respond. How badly I wanted to release the arrow and add another to my list, but my hands fought back.

My lips quiver as I try to respond, but instead I stood quiet. Johnston sighed, knowing what he had said hit me hard to the point where I stood in shock.

“Estellia I know it is hard to be alone in this world, but you know that you can still change; your life is only beginning.” As Johnston spoke he stumbled around the horses and towards me, his pistol still aiming to my temple.

My arrow follows his steps; the closer he neared the more my fingers started to ache, wanting the release. I prevented myself from doing so.

“Johnston I really do not want to do this. Walk away and you will not get hurt.” I whisper, my breath short and choppy.

He shook his head in disagreement, “You know well that I cannot do that. You are a wanted woman; killing an officer will only make your capture worth more. Hunters will be searching for you everywhere.”

A wicked grin grew onto my olive skinned face, “Let them hunt me down, no one has caught me yet. Do you honestly think I will have my guard drop now? I am on top of my game!” I cackle loudly; shaking my head in disbelief.

Johnston’s emotion suddenly embraced anger, “Estellia drop your weapon and step back!”

My laughter dropped, my lips gape ajar.

“What?” I asked, a slithering grin growing.

“You heard me. Drop that weapon of yours and move to the fork in the road… now!” Johnston screamed.

The pistol he held started to shake; the tone of his skin turning red and his dark brown eyes flaring in anger. I easily could out run the heavy-set man, but with the pistol entwined tightly in his hands I have no chance.

I unarm my weapon, dropping the bow-my arms still up, as I trudge to the fork in the road. Slowly I spin to face Johnston; he walks hesitantly, kicking my bow and poisonous arrow underneath the carriage. Smart move.

The pistol still shook in his hands, his finger trembling on the trigger.

“Are you going to kill me now? You know I will never stop; this here is my life. Has been for a while now,” I raised my brow questionably.

Johnston exhaled loudly, his eyes thinking of a plan that wouldn’t have his head in a basket, or mine. Suddenly his eyes flicker up to mine,

“Kneel down, hands behind your back; now!” His voice spits out loud, but I can hear the shakiness clearly.

“Oh Johnston come on, you know I will eventually escape that pathetic obstacle course you call a dungeon.” I state, rolling my eyes in the process but kneeling as told; my hands drop behind my back.

Johnston’s long-may I say loud- drawn out breaths became quiet,

“Estellia, you’re not escaping this time.”

My gaze lingers on him in confusion, “I always do. You do know there is a difference between confidence and cockiness right?”

Johnston immediately shakes his head, his eyes, glossy and his chapped lips parting to speak, but kept hesitating. He holsters his pistol, strapping it back into its home. His chunky hands run through his already balding head, the aging years stressing him to a point he will be completely bald by next year.

His lips close; a deep swallow he takes before speaking,

“Estellia, Princess Delilah has been searching for you everywhere ever since you stole that crown of hers. She wants your head. This time around you’re going straight to the basket, no exceptions.”


I snort, “Good luck with that. Everyone knows that mad woman doesn’t deserve a crown.”

Though my voice spoke in confidence and in control- just how I have been trained- on the inside I start to slowly collapse. Chills spark through my entire body, the red color in my cheeks draining to a winter snow white. Tears pricked in my eyes but I acquired all of my strength to keep them prisoned back.

I need to think of a plan. There had to be a way to get out of this situation, both of us alive. My heart wanted desperately to take the wheel, but at this moment I needed my brain to stay in control.

Johnston rummaged through his satchel, taking out his rope. Casually he walked behind me, kneeled down, and tied my hands together. I winced as the rope rubbed against my aching skin, a burn to surely be formed later on.

“Estellia this is a terrible way to go out, but you forced it all on yourself.” Johnston started to say as he forced me to stand.

My steps stumble as his death grip dragged me towards the carriage. Tossing me harshly against the back door of the carriage, Johnston takes the chain of keys from his belt and starts to go over each one for the right key.

Thinking of the only idea that could get me out of here alive, I nonchalantly slide my leg up the carriage, appearing as a casual stance. My fingers dance along my boot, as I slowly reach in and down my calf. They stop along the handle of my bowie knife, cautiously riding it up to the palm of my hands.

“Now I know I may seem as the bad guy, but you know I am only doing my job.” Johnston mumbled as he fiddled with the keys.

He continued to speak but my mind started to wander off as I started to scratch the blade of the knife to the rope. I became so bored with Johnston’s pointless talk, I let my head fall back against the carriage.

“Are you even listening?” Johnston abruptly asked in mid-sentence.

I picked my head up, raising my dark brown brows, “Honestly, no I am not.”

The rope snaps, my hands now free. I sigh with relief, outrage now coursing through my veins. Johnston keeps yapping, not realizing the rope on the dirt and a knife in my hand.

He finishes his overly long statement, finding the key he had been spending minutes searching for. Johnston’s eyes quickly glimpse at me, flickering back down to the keys, but automatically set back on me.

“Estellia how did you?” He trembled; taking a shaking step back.

A devilish grin sparked on my lips, “I always escape.”

Before Johnston could respond with another lecture, my grip on the handle of the knife tightens and I throw without hesitation.

I take a step back, my body falling against the door. Johnston’s voice croaks, his shaking eyes staring to me, confused, then slowly dropped down to the knife that rested where his heart use to pump.

“Why?” He whispered before collapsing to the dirt, a small cloud of dirt rising seconds after.

I turn my head away, closing my eyes to not watch him fall lifeless. Strands of tears start to fall, but I swipe them away just as they fall. Why did I let myself do this?

 I stand alone for several minutes, processing what I have done to the last person who I had respect for in this god forsaken land.

Any moment now anyone could show up and see what I have done; I need to leave. With trembling hands I stand in front of Johnston’s bleeding corpse, kneeling to say a prayer.

“May your soul live on and your journey to the heavens fulfill; pax tibi,” I whisper, “Peace to you Johnston.”

My hand rests onto the handle of the knife; I turn my head away as I slide the knife out. From the pocket of my leather pants I take out my white handkerchief already stained in blood from previous victims.

My hands shake to the point where I dropped the knife twice but eventually cleaned the blood off the blade. I no longer could focus; watching Johnston start to pale made my stomach start to churn in disgust. I have never stuck around long enough to see what I have done to those I murder. Off in the distance I hear the sound of the roll of wheels on the crunching of dirt gravel.

A rather loud groan escapes from my lips; tripping over my own feet as I stumble to the front of the carriage. I race to retrieve my bow and arrow and also the money I promised Johnston I would leave with. Shouts of a driver to a horse screamed, a whipping ‘whoosh’ soon following.

I cringe, displeased for the abuse of an innocent creature, but I have no time. I barely escape as I throw myself into the trees of the forest, hiding behind a fallen tree trunk. I wait, anxious as the carriage wheels forward and stops in front of Johnston’s lifeless body.

The officer driving calls to another who rides on a horse behind the carriage. The two inspect his wound, thinking of who would do such a thing.

My sharp eyes on the officers’ move when I hear the door of the carriage creak open, slamming shut moments after. Out steps Princess Delilah in the flesh, bitterness between her lips.

“What is going on that is preventing me from continuing my outing to Windler Village?” She screams; each step filled with hate and irritation.

Princess Delilah has always been a questioning noble. May it be her edgy look: black leather pants so tight blood circulation must be trouble, provocative corsets so tight-rib shattering- yet beautiful in other eyes, dark-bold colors of trains, black being the color today, to follow an achieved princess formal, but most of all, heeled boots so sharp they can kill. It could also be her outrageous decisions for the country.

The officers cower away from Johnston as Delilah rounded the corner to face the atrocity. A small, almost inaudible, gasp escaped from her heart shaped blood red lips.

“W-Who do you think could have?” Before the officer could even stutter out another word Delilah intruded,

“Oh that leech of a girl! I send the one man she is kind to, to kill her and look what happens. Where is she?”

Delilah’s piercing gold eyes snapped to an officer with cherry red hair and a beard too long to be acceptable. The officer’s fingers shook, his mouth opening and closing but nothing would come out.

“W-We do not know princess. S-S-She could be long gone now,” Another officer with shaggy black hair and emerald colored eyes nervously responded.

Delilah growled, walking gracefully in her six-inch heels to Johnston’s body. Enraged, she kicks him in his side,

“You pathetic man, pathetic officer. I give one job and you get your damn self killed. Serves you right I suppose.” Delilah’s voice spoke monotone to Johnston, shrugging and turning away.

“One of you go get more men to clean this mess up; I have a previous engagement to attend to.” Delilah glanced once more at the guards, and then proceeded back into the carriage.

“Oh one last thing,” Delilah said bitterly sweet, her head poking through the curtains, “Find that girl with the poison arrows. Alive of course; I want to be the one that pulls the lever.”

The officers quickly make the decision, the one driving jumped onto the seat and whipped the horses to move on like nothing had happened, and the other glided onto to his horse and trotted off in the opposite direction.

Once out of plain sight, I cautiously crawl my way out of the forest and to the fork in the road. First I walk back to Johnston’s body, taking the pistol I had forgotten to loot.

I search through the carriage, trying to find anything that would give me more money. Finding nothing more, I set the horses to freedom and watch as they run down the dirt road, soon to catch up with the carriage.

Thinking back to what Delilah said, I am in fear. I know how mad her mind is; willing to kill her whole country just to get to me. I had to escape. I know I could not return to the Faire kingdom; if I step even one foot in the boundaries I am a dead woman.

I have seen all the places, forced myself out. I could reinvent myself! Wait, already tried that. The only possible place I could go that I have yet to journey to is the open land. There is sanctuary. Anything of your past no longer matters and for once I could forget who I am.

Years ago I traveled with my now deceased mother; a place where the people were kind and helped anyone of need. I could be the person my mother was; I could make her proud. I have made my decision.


I return to the cabin I have been surviving in for the last year. Without one single lantern that glowed in the front, the house would appear as abandon, as it was when I first arrived.

Entering the cabin, I suddenly am filled with bare walls and broken floor boards. Though now it occurs to me, I live in a possible death trap. I avoid all the dark descending holes in the floor, and maneuver my way towards what I call my bedroom.

I pack the two duffel bags I have carried around my whole life, shoving clothing, what I have left of money, and all of my weapons. I drop the bags to the bed and stride to the closet. Opening, I swipe my mother’s hooded cloak.

I pause for a single moment, my fingers tracing along the cashmere fabric; my mother’s kind image flashing before me. I shake the thought of her, knowing that she would be disappointed in me for what I have done ever since she has passed.

I drape the cloak over my shoulders, strapping the emerald-diamond broach, and resting the hood over my coco brown, low messy bun hair.

I hurry from the house to the abandon barn where I keep the one person I have left in my life and the only true friend I have in this world. Inside stands Killian; the most elegant horse I have ever set eyes on.

Standing at a tall 5’9 height, hair and mane as dark as the midnight sky, hooves a silvery gray, and eyes as blue as the lost sea; Killian my Paso Caballus horse. He neighs majestically as I open the gate and enter.

I drop my duffels by the gate and start to pack anything I have of Killian’s. I need to cover any tracks of my existence being here. 

Hastily, I strap on Killian’s sattle. I clip each of my duffels onto each side of the sattle, making the weight even for him. I reopen the gate, guiding him out of the barn.

Before leaving I stare in once more to the barn I had dreams to restore for Killian, but dreams never end happily in my book. I blow out the single candle, leaving the property dark and alone once more.


Two days I have been traveling. My eyes droop every other minute, stifling a yawn as I heeled Killian. The sun starts to set as I set up camp: a single blanket and an oil lantern.

I rest on the blanket, staring up to the magenta night sky; must be the end of the month. Ever since mom died I have lost track of everything; time, day, even the months.

I miss her warm touch as she would console me and my troubles.  The way she would comfort me through the difficult times. I still wonder how I have survived this long in the world. Then again, I did murder the one man who understood all the trouble I have had with the death of my mom. Maybe the open land is where I am supposed to be.

No longer would I have to worry about over crowded villages or wanted signs with a photo of me; my face covered by a hooded cloak. On the signs they call me ‘woman vigilante, marks with poison arrows’. I find the name to be ridiculous, but they’re not wrong.

I stare to the billions of stars, watching as they shimmer. A small breeze blew through the field, the grass hugging against my skin; a warm embrace I have not felt in over a year. No matter how hard I try to ignore the fact that I am entirely alone, I cannot shake that I am.


I wake early, eat what I have left of food, and pack what I call camp. Killian and I travel further east towards the open lands of Aisteria. Up ahead a large forest stands in sight; I finally made it.

An entrance between two large Redwood trees come in sight; a brick road guiding further in. I know I should guide Killian away from the brick road-bandits are always lurking on marked roads.  Deciding to take the risk I clicked Killian with my heels; he picks up his pace.

The area is silent, the only noise being the chirping of birds and Killian’s hooves trotting against the brick pavement. My ears focus on other noises that surround me. I hear scrapes of what sounds like animals, but I know that is not the case. Being a bandit myself I have been trained to listen when an animal is making a noise and when criminals are. I can almost hear the breathing of another.

I know that at any moment the bandit or bandits will pop out and try to mug me; unquestionably a terrible decision. So to make my head start I guide the reins over towards a river that follows close along the brick road.

I glide off Killian’s sattle, reaching into one of my duffels to grab a canteen. I dig around, my fingers grazing across my crossbow I made out of Oally wood.

I proceed to the river, kneeling down and start to fill the canteen. As I fill the metal container I listen more closely to the noises around me. In the trees across the river, and the two that stood on both sides of me I could hear bird calls.

Though the calls would sound spot on to any other person, I know the difference. The octave they imitated of a Yooter bird was very well done but it is very hard to fool me.

I rise from kneeling and return back to Killian. I tie his reins to a thick branch of a redwood tree; wouldn’t want him hurting anybody.

I shove the canteen back into the duffel, as I do so, I arm my crossbow. I crack both sides of my neck, a wicked grin glowing on my face. My vision blurred for just one moment; my focus kicking in.

My finger tightens around the trigger; my heart starts to beat faster. In this moment I am no longer a girl who lost her mother from a gang she previously resided in; I am a killing machine that has no remorse for anyone or anything.

Time seemed to slow as I whip out my crossbow with miniature poison tip arrows and aim to the left tree across the river. I pull the trigger. I arm again as I hear the yelp of a man and suddenly hear a drop to the full green grass.

The second round I shoot is to the tree to my right. Another drop. I arm my bow once more, but heard a voice I never thought I would hear again.

“Stop!” The deep husky voice bellowed.

I pause from shooting the next arrow into the right tree across the river. From behind a shrub comes out a figure wearing a black cloak. The figure stands facing me; two bowie knives gripped tightly in his hands.

I stand unable to move. I clear my voice to speak, but nothing comes out. The figure raises his head, using his hands to remove the hood of the cloak. My throat tightens, my body shakes; I can feel all my bottled emotions slowly cracking. My eyes try not to linger, but I couldn’t help it.

His hazy gray eyes bore into my watering teals. His blond hair still messy, yet handsome. His skin a smooth honey color; I miss the feeling of it. From the last time I faced him there was so much hatred and betrayal, yet now all I wanted was to run into his arms. Facing him, I am weak.

“Winston,” I breathe; my lips quiver and my teeth chatter.

“Hello dear, did you miss me?” He replied; a humorous smirk painting onto his perfectly plump lips.

I bite my cheek, “What are you doing on this side of the country?” I mutter, my eyes staring down to the bush he emerged from.

Winston laughed, “Well looking for you of course.”

My heart started to race faster. This is the moment I dreaded for; he is here to finally kill me. I had to get out of here.

“I have stayed away since you banished me, and I am not in a good place at the moment. Spare me, I promise I will stay far away from the north.” I plead; sounding as if I am a child begging not to get in trouble.

Winston’s smirk grew into a wide grin; his pearly whites shining bright.

“Oh no Essie darling I am not here to kill you, you have done as I asked. I am actually here today to recruit you back into the Aishers.”

I stand in disbelief, “Why would I do that? You would just kick me out again for a crime I didn’t commit.”

I could see the annoyance in Winston’s face as I accused him. He sighed in frustration,

“I know what we all did was wrong; we have acknowledged that and are willing to let you back in. What do you say?”

He was playing me. The stare and false smile gave it away. Something is up, and I know that I am his last hope. The man who created the monster I am, wanting my help; oh this will be great.

“Winston lets be real here, what is really going on?” I question; my emotions starting to calm, and confidence kicking in.

His confident smile and tall stature fell and worry flashed in his eyes.

“People are dying in camp Essie; arrow wounds. We all thought it was you at first, but the carving is different and no poison on the tips. At this rate, the gang will all be dead by next winter.”

“Why do you need my help?” I retorted; finally unarming my cross bow and stashing it back into my duffel.

“For the longest time others insisted I find you but I let my emotions stand in the way and forbid it. But being a good leader means to stash away any feelings and do what is right. I need your expertise skill on tracking. Your mothers help is much needed too.”

I turn away; not exploiting my emotions towards the mention of my mother. The tips of my fingers cage my lips shut from a whimper; I need to calm myself.

“What did I say wrong?” Winston asked; clearly unsure of what had set me off.

I turn to face him, a face that soon would break into tears.

“How dare you mention my mother when I know you or one of your gang members killed her!” I screech; taking the pistol I stashed in my left boot and pointing it to his forehead.

Winston hesitated a step, “Essie what do you mean?” I shook my head in anger, “Don’t you ever call me that! I know one of your goons did it; a poison arrow did her good. Only you use a poison arrow other than me; same carving marks were on there too.”

Out of nowhere a figure dropped from the left tree by me; running towards my way. Instead of shooting him like I would normally do, I used the handle of the gun to punch the figure in the face.

The body fell to the ground in agony; covering their bleeding nose. My direction leads back to Winston and the gun once more to his forehead.

“Essie I promise it was not me that killed your mom; she was a mom to all of us. Why would I do that, to you of all people?”

I blink repetitively; blocking the tears from falling. I had no excuse to know why Winston or any of the members would do such a thing to my mother. I sigh holstering the pistol,

“How did you find me?” I asked; ignoring his question.

He shrugged, “I have eyes and ears everywhere Essie. It surprisingly was not that hard to find you.”

I blew out an annoying sigh. “So tell me, what do I get if I do this job of yours?”

Winston stared confused, “You don’t want to stay?”

I cackled, “Oh god no; I have a chance to start new here in the open lands. Maybe open a barn for stray horses. Either way I am not staying.”

I know I sounded harsh, but there was no other way to say it. His face expressed hurt, but I didn’t expect him to understand; he never did.

“Well then, I can give you enough to build this barn of yours and live a life time in wealth. How about that?” He responded.

I wanted to accept the offer, but after all they put me through: banning me from the only place I called home, having no place to go to, and shunning my presence of existence, I felt the need to be equally selfish. This was the only way to hurt Winston as bad as he hurt me.

“Do I have a choice, or are you going to force me no matter what I say?” I spoke in a caustic yet monotone way.

Winston sighed, “Essie we need your help and I am willing to do anything to keep my family safe.”

I nodded, “Well then, you’re going have to force me.”

With that I cocked the gun, pointing it once more at Winston. For a moment I hesitate; re-thinking my decision. Two years I have been trying to forget him, and I was so close. All the memories I have made, good and bad, in that gang- all the brainwashing I have done become useless when I stare into his eyes. I want to hurt him, but knowing that it would hurt the others, was it wise of me to object his offer?

  Before making my final choice, without noticing, the man who I possibly left with a broken nose, jumped up, catching me off guard and launching himself onto me.

Starting to tumble down to the dirt I waste no time to finish what I started. With closed eyes I pull the trigger. A loud aftershock echoes through the forest and an abrupt twinge pulses through my thigh.

As I lay on the dirt with the man on top of me, tying my hands behind my back I stare down to the burgeoning irritation in my thigh. Resting deep in the side of my left thigh, Winston’s knife resides.

“What the hell Winston!” I groan, turning my head to see Winston on the dirt- holding pressure onto his arm. Blood started to spread through his white placket shirt.

I choked out a laugh, “Hah! I got you!”

Winston growled as he stood, slowly proceeding his direction towards me.

“Put her in the wagon Fergus.” His deep voice mumbled.

“What about her horse?” The young boy asked in a thick tache accent as he forced me up and into the hay wagon.

Winston’s passing direction stopped and turned towards the boy, his eyes wide,

“Whatever you do, do not have her close to that horse. They are like one; they will find a way to escape.”

“Aye, okay. Whit a bonny lassie, aye?” Fergus winked at Winston who scoffed in return.

“What did he just say?” I demanded as I sat up in the wagon; wincing every time I set pressure on my leg.

Winston grinned wide as he sat on the back wheel of the wagon, opening the aid kit to tend to the bullet wound.

“Will you chain her up?” Winston politely asked Fergus as he picked up clamps, taking in a deep breath.

Fergus responds to Winston with a small nod before attaching the chains connected to the wagon to my wrists. They really did have everything planned if I resisted.

“If I didn’t have a knife jabbed in my thigh you would be a dead man.” I seethed out, gasping out in pain; suddenly feeling faint.

“Winston!” Fergus called out in worry.

“What?” He answered; annoyed by the fact he could not concentrate on getting out the bullet.

“Uhm, t-the girl!” He stuttered out in a rush.

Winston, agitated, stood and turned to see what had Fergus so concerned. But what next he said I did not hear, for all I heard was high pitch ringing and all I saw were the green leaves blowing with the summer breeze.

© Copyright 2018 JWonderland14. All rights reserved.

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