Untitled (Title yet to be given)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The girl’s body had gone numb, her terror did not freeze her like many other people’s had. her body knew the penalty of being frozen and it did not want to die. So it had numbed the fire spreading through her muscles and dulled the sadness for her loved ones. She was in a sort of frantic rhythm, her heart skipped beats as she dodged trees and her legs kept powering her through the thick leaves that covered the forest’s floor, jumping to clear a branch or two but never slowing, her arms moving in perfect time with her feet and her breath which she seemed to lose just as quickly as she got it huffed white that blurred her vision.
But she knew they could run faster, jump higher and were always numb, never caring for anyone but themselves, with one purpose: to wipe out the human race.

Submitted: July 13, 2012

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Submitted: July 13, 2012

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The girl’s body had gone numb, her terror did not freeze her like many other people’s had. her body knew the penalty of being frozen and it did not want to die. So it had numbed the fire spreading through her muscles and dulled the sadness for her loved ones. She was in a sort of frantic rhythm, her heart skipped beats as she dodged trees and her legs kept powering her through the thick leaves that covered the forest’s floor, jumping to clear a branch or two but never slowing, her arms moving in perfect time with her feet and her breath which she seemed to lose just as quickly as she got it huffed white that blurred her vision.

 But she knew they could run faster, jump higher and were always numb, never caring for anyone but themselves, with one purpose: to wipe out the human race. Or so the hurried whispers in the night had told her, hushed rumours that had meant the end of the world. Rumours about people who had been experimented on by a man whose great mind had taken all the traces of humanity from his heart; the part of their brain that causes them to think and feel, shut down, creating monsters with the power to take down the civilized world and replace it with a primitive, animalistic dystopia. The girl did not know his name but the tormented people in the night had named him “The Creator.”

The girl did not hear him snarling, she did not feel the force of his body knock her down, the hot breath against her cheek. She did not scream, the terror that had numbed her before now turned her body to ice. She was stuck looking up at her death, a man maybe in his late twenties, bare chested and brutal, looking down at her with distorted glee. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain that would follow. She expected to see her life flash before her eyes but instead she experienced the same static black that was always there.

She heard a blood curdling noise making her body tense, she thought for a split second that the terrible noise was a victory cry but then she felt the full weight of his body go limp on top of hers. She just lay there, still frozen, her torso crushed beneath the man. In a dazed bewilderment she looked around, trying to make sense of the situation. It was then that she saw the arrow protruding from his skull. An arrow? But how? It was all very strange, if a person wasn’t out dying they were running for their lives. She hoped to god that it wasn’t another one of them wanting the fresh frightened meat for himself.

She heard a thud and the crunch of an approach, she waited to see another grotesque face floating above her but instead it was the face of a man maybe two or three years older than her. He lifted the inhuman beast off her and she sucked in a welcome breath of the cool night air. Her eyes were wide and questioning but he put his finger to his lips: be silent it meant, and so she was. He started to prod at her body, examining her for any injures. Satisfied that she was not hurt he grabbed her hand and heaved her to her feet.

She was unsteady, not realising how much energy she had lost. She swayed and started to fall, grabbing at the air silently. The man caught her and slung her over his shoulder in one liquid movement that left the girl dazed and winded, but she did not protest. The man was sure-footed: he silently glided over the leaves making no more noise than a field mouse, he was tall and lean, she could feel the defined muscle of his back beneath her hands and her thigh pressed against his chest; his hand burned the cold skin behind her knee and the heat from his body melted the ice in her blood. On his other shoulder he hung his bow and quiver of arrows. Both were very simple: the bow made out of plain oak strung with a stiff brown string, the arrows tipped with the same coloured feathers, and the sheath made out of stiff leather. The man was much the same; he had milky skin with deep brown eyes that she had watched glide over her body expertly only seconds before and dark hair that he had cut himself so that it stuck up at odd angles.

There was nothing remarkable about this man although he made her feel warm and safe, but you never go to feel safe in this world. It was only then she remembered the hushed whispers of men devoted to The Creator. Some were used to protect his laboratories and testing institutes others used to hunt. But these hunters weren’t hunting for food, they were sent to hunt women. The Hunters saved girls of all ages, giving them hope and then dumping them at breeding institutes to be groomed for their final fate: breeding. So the sons would become creatures and the daughters will have the same end as their mothers.

The girls’ heart stopped. What was to become of her?


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