Viola

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Viola Ellwood is the last uninfected person in Lentonburg, a community that has lived diseases, wild animals and possible attacks from the Sky Beings.
Suddenly, people from Lentonburg are disappearing, and quick. Viola has one choice.
Catch, or be caught.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Viola

Submitted: November 21, 2011

Reads: 147

Comments: 1

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Submitted: November 21, 2011

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Hey, I just wanted to apologise for this being so short. I ran out of time, and I didn't want to delete it, so yes. I hope you enjoy it and post a comment below! :) x

The first thing you think of to do when a shadow is chasing you is sprint. Well, maybe not sprint, but definitely run. I was fine and dandy up to midday. Swifty had been plodding along beside me, her hooves pushing deep groves into the mud. I patted her head and she looked at me with her big brown eyes. I looked across the tops of the trees, and matched my pace with Swifty's footsteps. Everything was so...calm and peaceful. Unnatural. My father had sent me out to go speak to old man Collins, who lives deep in the forest. Ever since the Attack came, he has spent his days in there, wood cutting and muttering to himself. I should be hearing the twitter and flutter of birds high above my head. But no. Nothing. Swifty and me stopped, looked around ourselves (well Swifty couldn't do that, so I did it for her). There was the slightest rustle of any flippin' life out here. Why?

Swifty snorts and rears her head. Her hooves smack the dry hard ground several times while I try to calm her right down. "Hey, hey girl. Steady now." I stroke her streaming back and swallow back my nerves. I wasn't a claustrophobic person, but the trees almost seemed to loom in on us, creating some sort of barrier of noiselessness. I pat Swifty again, not just for her comfort. She was 14 and a half hands, but suddenly, I felt so much smaller than her. I try not to look around to much, let whatevers following me think I have no idea.

"C'mon, girl!" I try to say cheerily, but it just comes out strained and cheesy. I cough self-consiously and push her along. We keep walking through the trees. Swifty gets more distressed.

She starts ducking and looking behind 'erself and I can't help but do as well.

That's when I notice it.

Sitting, hidden in between the trees, is a....shadow?

My frown quickly turns to an open mouth as it rises (no, glides) off the leafy floor and floats towards me and Swifty. Crap. I straddle Swifty quicker than lightning and smack her hard with my kness. Agitated and distressed, she neighs and gallops off. I have to cling onto her mane as she sprints faster than she's ever done before, and I have to close my eyes against the branches that snap on my face. A cold shiver runs up my spine.

A cold, shriveled hand reaches out and grabs my braid. I scream and whack it off, nearly falling off Swifty. The...creature growls and goes spinning backwards, it's emptiness lingering in the air. Swifty is sweating badly now, and she is starting to struggle. The creatures soon caught up with us again, and nearly strangles me. Swifty kicks that blasted shadow right where it hurts and with a breathless push, sprints away from the thing.

We collide with trees and bushes alike, though not stopping to ten our wounds. I eventually let off. "Woah. Woah." I push my knees into her sides, trying to slow her down. Just in time as well, 'cause there's a river not far ahead. We come to a stop in front of it, I jump flat-footed onto the ground, and without stopping to shout 'ouch!', I dive face first into the cool water. Swifty follows likewise, not hesitating at all to take rasping gulps from the water. I come up for air, drenched but hardly caring.

I suddenly think: what if that Thing was old man collins? Was he trying to scare me away? He'd done it before, that was for sure. He classed the forest as his very own place, and people were certainly not welcome. My father had sent me to get some wood, ever since the logs that I had cut down were not suitable for use. Of course, old man collins logs would be bloody well better than mine.

I don't think he'd let me borrow any now.


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