I wake repeatedly from a living nightmare, the world bending in unnatural ways around me. I can't control myself and I jump up, making a high-pitched laugh and thrashing through the undergrowth, pushing Zay over in the process. Tripping and falling, I run into the unfamiliar woods, banging into trees that appear out of nowhere. One appears a little too suddenly and I bang my head on it, blacking out.
The next time I waken, beetles are crawling up my arms;forming in the gashes in my legs from my first mad rampage. Next to me, a tree swells to the size of a tower then collapses in blood. My stomach fills with sharp pain and I curl up in the fetal position, unable to move. Each time I wake up, a ongoing scream greets me, becoming louder than fading over and over again.
My worst nightmares become a reality. How many times do I have to watch Alana and Lilan be murdered in the most horrifying ways? Their blood spews over me as I lay there helpless, my stomach twisting inside of me.
My sisters are killed for the last time and I wait for death to take me away from my pain. Sick and disoriented, I force myself to get up and crawl, but I lose my balance and fall into a ditch, filled with with red bugs the size of small dogs. My eyes cross one more time as a bloody tree splashes down onto my face, enveloping me in darkness.
When I finally come to my senses, I wait for another onslaught of nightmares. Eventually, I accept that whatever was in those berries has worked its way through my bloodstream and out of me.
I'm still locked in the fetal position and Zay is nowhere to be found. I weakly lift my hand to my face, but find no dried blood there, blood that never existed. The scrapes I collected from my forest run do exist and a cut on my upper right calf is spewing out blood. I look around for anything to stop the flow, for my own clothes that the camp gave me are being held together by the last seams. The ditch I fell into is filled with tiny red flowers blooming in the wet soil, not giant beetles.
Giving up my search, I place my hand in the wound and hold it tightly, hoping that the blood flow stops. A strong, foul taste pervades my mouth and my stomach stills pains.
I move to get up, but pain shoots through my arm. I look over and see that it's swelled up like a balloon, red, blotchy, and turning purple near my wrist. Every time I try my arm, it swells more and becomes bluer. I finally force myself to get up and limp toward a cluster of short-leafed bushes. Blood runs down my leg and I try to stench the flow with hand, but it keeps running. The warm liquid leaving a sticky stream on my leg and coats my foot in red.
I don't know if I can live much longer.
All rights reserved. Klaireβ’ January 15 2013
Want to join the conversation? Sign in to leave a comment.