Quillet

Tragedy

It's silent. The strong spruce trees of the forest stand as strong and tall as ever, swaying in the slight breeze. A house finch flies down to greet its chick, bearing food. Everything is calm. Nature is good at hiding its plot twists, just like a tiger hunting after weeks of itching hunger.
The bird that was so carefully watching its children suddenly flew away, as if it could sense something the other animals were oblivious to.
The peaceful bliss was interrupted as Quillet exploded through the overgrown forest, tearing through the dark-toned branches and bushes that lay in his path. He ignored the cuts and bruises he received from the branches and debris flying by him as his feet pounded against the forest floor. He couldn't focus on that right now. The only thing his frail mind could think about was getting the hell out of there.
He hadn't been running for long, and he was already out of breath. Even so, he was willing to continue running as long as he needed to.
They couldn't catch him. If they caught him, it would be very very bad. They would kill him without hesitation, and play with his body even after it fell apart. He had his chance, and he gave it all up for the small chance of escape. He knew now that that might have been the biggest mistake of his life. If he was going to die... he didn't want it to be this way. He didn't want to be dismembered for the gain of such foul people. If they could learn anything from him, it would help. That was the furthest thing from Quillet's desires.
His vision was blurry, and his eyes ached as they tried to focus on the abyss around him. It was so dark, he was lucky he hadn't slammed into one of the tall swaying trees. Perhaps he was luckier than he thought.
He felt the cold metal of an arrow as it whizzed by his head, grazing his cheek. A small stream of warm blood dribbled out of the cut and off his face, onto the ground below. It was dark, so dark that he couldn't see anything. Not even the silhouettes of the trees or branches. He was blindly fumbling through the wilderness, hoping, praying he would survive.
Quillet knew that they could have caught him a long time ago. The "doctors" arrows always hit their targets, so they must have missed him on purpose. Quillet didn't know why they didn't just kill him already. Sure, they wanted to play with him when he was dead, but a toy that is alive is much more entertaining. Still, something inside of him told him to keep running, no matter how pointless it was, or how much it hurt.
No matter how much he knew that's what they wanted.
Normally, a kid would have frozen in fear, or given up, but not Quillet. He had always been different, ever since he was a baby. It never made sense to anyone around him, let alone the boy himself. It's hard to put into words, so for the sake of time... He's odd.
The chilling forest around him appeared to lose color as he started to get dizzy. No no, not here, not now... I have to keep going! He thought as branches and thorns dug into his flesh. He could feel the blood pounding through his legs and arms as he forced himself to endure the painful vegetation raking against his body. It felt like he was being whipped with metal rods as he ran. It was almost unbearable. As trees around him started to fade away as he fled. Before he knew what was happening, Quillet was falling. He didn't even notice the ten-meter trench that lay in his path.
He fell for what felt like ages, even though he knew it was only a matter of seconds. Finally, his body smashed into the ground, making the pain in his cheek seem almost painless. Blood surrounded him as he lay, crippled at the bottom of the trench. Every part of him was warm with fresh blood, his limbs sprawled out in impossible ways as he lay on the solid rocks. It soaked into his hair, coated his clothing, and dribbled down into his eyes from his throbbing head. Everything around him was blurry, and when he tried to open his eyes the pain in his head only grew worse. Not to mention the waves of hell endlessly surging through his entire body. He didn't care that they were chasing him anymore. If anything, death would be a salvation compared to this torture.
The only thing that seemed unharmed was his left arm. He reached it up to his face, trying to wipe the blood from his eyes in the last attempt to cease the pain. His cheek, his nose, his face. It was broken, ravaged, and torn. How did this even happen? He was lucky his eyes were left, his teeth, he could still breathe, god help him!
The pain surging from his wounds caused his trauma-ridden body to jerk and twitch violently as the last bit of life faded from him. This... this is the end... I knew that running was a waste of time.... If they had killed me I could have avoided such a painful...
Everything hurt, and when he twitched it hurt more. It was like Quillet had been tied to a stake and set aflame, but refused to die. Instead destined to suffer an eternal fate of burning pain, all while tied to a stake in the center of town for all to see. It seemed impossible, how he felt at this moment. He was only eleven, yet he was thinking about dying. He knew he should have stayed with the doctors. Although, maybe death was a better fate anyway.
At least, if he died this way, his body would be too destroyed to mess with.
In the distance, he could hear the mournful sorrow of a bird. He wondered if that Bird's sadness was directed at him. What a silly thought. What a silly way to die. Missing something right in front of him.
Somehow, even the pitch darkness of the night seemed to fade away as Quillet succumbed to the longing pull of unconsciousness, his body relaxing for the first time he could remember.