Friday, August 03, 2007
She ran so fast but her legs must bare one more step, she could not stop now, they where behind her. The trees seemed to wrap her in darkness and the crows slowly moved like lazy Shadow between the leaves. The blood racing from her neck started to dry on her skin and it cracked, like the earth would crack in drought.
What if they could smell the blood and that is how they have been following her for the last hour or so. She ripped the bottom part of her black dress off and wrapped it around her neck. Her breathing was slow and the air escaping trough her wound made a bubbling sound. She remembers when she was only seven her father made bubbles in the dish washing water, the soap made bubbles and that entertained her. Ironic that the sound of pleasure could be remembered with this event of hate. Trough her childhood they stayed in the wooden cabin deep in the forest, she never even knew there was a world beyond these trees.
The day she ventured past the big trees at the edge of the forest was the day she met her doom, even if she did not know it at that moment in time. The events that followed was what brought her to this moment, throat slit breathing like soap bubbles and trying to hide from men. These men her father warned her about, they take what you are not willing to give and if they do not understand what you are they would kill you just for the joy of blood.
She hides behind the old oak, the side hidden from the path it had a big hole in the roots. She pretended it was her house when she was younger and now it will be her hiding place. She hears the light of their torches coming closer, the smell of their voices makes her skin crawl.
They must not find her, her body shivers in the cold air, it might even be the amount of blood she lost. Shock.
Their feet speeds them closer to her and she knows that she cannot continue running now or they will surely see her. She sits quietly inside the roots trying not to breathe, they will definitely hear the bubbles in her breath.
Slowly she exhales, soft bubbles murmur under her blood soaked scarf.
She hears one of them stop close to her hide out, his sweat leaves a soft stench in the air.
The crows in the trees are upset now, and they start flying out, cawing in hate as their slumber was disturbed by the men and the bleeding woman
The Craws scatter trough the branches and the men start moving again.