Chapter Three
“Run!” She screams from behind me.
My feet hit the ground in an uneven and frantic rhythm, stumbling and thwarting tree branches as I go.
I know why I am running, I know who is behind me, but if I turn to check I will trip and fall and then we are both dead.
I run faster and faster, my lungs ripping the air they contain to nothing. My muscles burn like acid, eyes sting and I struggle through the winded feeling in my gut.
“Keep going honey! Don’t stop.”
The temptation is too great, the voice of my mother carries forward and wraps around. I breathe it in and turn my head slightly with the hope of catching sight of her hair, or a foot in my peripheral vision.
Idiot! I trip and falter as predicted and fly head first into a gathering of roots, planted it seems to purposefully mock me.
“NO!” My mother screams, to close to me, and all of a sudden she is on top of me, sprawled in much the same way I am.
“I’m s..sorry! I’m sorry. Sorry sorry sorry sorry.” I cry out, trying to pull her up from under me. She grapples with me and we fumble upwards.
Then she dead weights.
Then she falls.
Then I see the blade.
Then...
Red.
I scream, and then I am awake.
My body is drenched in sweat. I am awake before the sun rises, far before the birds that will not chirp today. Eerily they always seem to know.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling gasping through gritted teeth, finger nails clawing into the mattress.
I wish pure will was enough for today to be so far in the past that my memory struggles to recall the feel of the sheets under my fingertips, and the stinging behind my eyes due to the tears my subconscious produced.
I lay like this for what must be hours, or at the very least a couple trying to push the image of my mother face down in the dirt with a knife sticking from her back. I do this until my father knocks on my door and pops his head into my room.
“Come on sweetie. Eggs are cooking; they’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” Looking at me in that way, same as every year, he leaves the room and his footsteps fade with each step.
What would happen if I just stay here? Option One. I pretend to be gravely ill and when the Peacemakers come knocking they shoot me point blank- Not very appealing. Option Two. I fake my own death and spend the rest of my days under the floor boards- Again I’d rather not. Or Option Three. I get up, get dressed and stand in a crowd of pathetic ‘children’ and wait for my name to be pulled from a bowl- Only a small chance of death and let’s face it, my only real option.
As always it comes down to the only thing I can do, so I sit up, rub my eyes and glare at the band on my wrist with enough hatred to last my life time.
When I arrive downstairs the eggs dad had promised were sat on top of a slice of toasted bread. I force a smile at him and attempt to eat some of it. My stomach protests though and I am forced to push through, knowing my father would only worry (even more) if I didn’t eat.
The clock on the wall says that it’s almost nine, so I pull on my coat and scarf and head for the door.
“I’ll be by the fences.” Dad calls to me. I smile and he winks at me.
