In Search of Quiet Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
She just needs to be alone.

Submitted: March 13, 2011

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Submitted: March 13, 2011

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She hopped out of the tree, landing with a light thud. Glancing around her quickly she walked off into the mass of trees. Gliding at a swift pace she wandered aimlessly in search of a place of her own. Ahead of her she saw it. Past a small clearing, over a soft hill, it was there. A small cave nestled between the craggy rocks. She sprinted to it without haste. The cave was tiny, barely large enough for two. The musty, humid air replaced the fresh, clean scent of the forest nearby. It had been used before, there was a soft, moss-covered log positioned as a bench with scorch marks nearby, evidence of a long-forgotten fire pit. It was here she sat, slipping a paper out of her pocket and filling it with fresh tobacco. She flicked her beloved lighter quickly, drawing in a deep breath, the carcinogen-laced smoke filling her lungs. She held it there for some time, allowing the toxic chemicals to take effect in her used body. With a soft whoosh she exhaled, pursing her lips and swirling the expended smoke around the tight area. Finally, a place for me, she thought. With another, quicker drag on the death stick she glanced down at the red-hot tip, fueling images of hate, lust, rage, anger, passion, and much more. She pulled her pocket composition book from her torn, faded jeans, inspiration hitting her forcefully, she begins writing, losing herself in her work, the long-awaited cigarette forgotten.

With a sharp sting of pain she looks down to her fingers, the bright tip of her spent cigarette biting into her flesh. She looks back to her writings, seeing several pages crammed with tiny letters, her story unfolding like a butterflies emergence from the cocoon. She sighs deeply, pulling another paper from her pocket and once again stuffing it with shredded tobacco leaves. She rolls it tight before quickly lighting it. This time she takes a break from her writing, pausing to enjoy her sweet addiction. As the thin smoke swirls around the small cave she hears a soft rumble. Looking down she realizes hunger has got the best of her once more. She takes one more long drag on her cigarette before throwing it down to the fire pit, letting it burn out on its own. With a quick look around her she exits her new cave.

She picks up a leafy branch, using it to sweep away her tracks as she heads back into the forest. She reaches the shade of the thick trees quickly, slipping into the shadows silently as she heads towards a known stream. Her pace quick she keeps her eyes and ears open, hand resting on her bow, ready to draw it at a moments notice. A twig snaps close to the bubbling stream, she automatically pulls her bow off her back, loading it quickly and holding it taut. She pauses just before the clearing, eyes searching in the fading light for any signs of danger. It is there that she sees her. A small fawn. She knows the doe must be close. She looks around, barely breathing and moving only her head, not wanting to alert the deer. After a moments pause she takes aim, having not seen or heard the doe. Not wanting to miss a chance for a good meal, she releases the quivering arrow watching it sink into the baby deer's heart. She quickly loads her bow again, and releases it. This time the arrow bites into the flesh of her neck. The fawn goes down quickly and the girl looks around for danger before running up to it.

She pulls a short sword out of its sheath. With a soft thank you to Mother Earth she slices the fawns head off, quickly ending her suffering. She pulls braided vine out of her pack and hangs the small deer from a tree, well away from the stream. She rolls up her jeans before slipping back into the woods. She comes back with a thin but solid branch. She pulls another extremely sharp arrowhead from her pack and ties it to the branch. She wades out into the stream, thinking she should try to catch some fish as well.

She takes in a quick, stuttered gasp as the cold water swells around her ankles, creeping up her legs inch by inch as the dark, gritty mud of the river tries to swallow her feet.



[To Be Continued]


© Copyright 2020 afflictive. All rights reserved.

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