The Voice Recorder

Chapter 1

Blood. Alot of it.

I could hear my nose crack as Dan thrust his fist into my face. The trickle of crimson slowly became a gush of warm, wet blood as he struck me again.

And again.

I flinched, expecting a third hit, covering my mangled face in anticipation. It never came. I slowly opened my eyes. To only a mere slit however. Dan was staring at me, his face filled with rage and a thirst for, what seemed to be meant for me, murder. I opened my mouth to protest his violence but was only welcomed with another punch, this one much harder than the last two. Next thing I knew, Dan had grabbed my hair and rammed my head into the tree stump, repeatedly.  I could see the blood already drying on the bark. My eyes stung with hot tears, but I made no attempt to cry. I couldn't see anything. For about five or so minutes, he threw my head into the wood with no sign of stopping. I was convinced that he would kill me.

"YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH !"

I curled up in a small ball as he let go of my head. I didn't realise the extent to which Dan had injured me, but all I could see was the deep pool that was forming beneath me. I quickly shut my eyes and collapsed onto the ground. I could bear Dan's insults, I could take his punches  that wasn't too hard, but the thing that made me feel the worst was the guilt of what I had done. Maybe I deserved this. Or maybe Dan was being irrational. Who knows.

"I'm going back to get Evan back, AND I SWEAR TO FUCK IF YOU MOVE ONE MUSCLE I WONT HEASIATE TO BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK"

He was dead serious. I know he would, and he most definitely could. he stormed off in the direction we ran. I sat there. Waiting. I think a couple of hours went by before I eventually got up and walked away. I needed to get home, my head was splitting, and the small amount of paracetamol I packed wasn't doing me any favours. I wasn't sure which way would take me home. But I wasn't going to go back, I didn't want to.

I walked for a while, longer than the journey to the car. I must've taken a wrong turn somewhere down the path. Shit. Without Dan, there was no way I was getting out of there. Just my luck. This forest seemed endless, the same pattern of trees and ferns over again. I'm beginning to lose sight of where I am, but just as I nearly give up hope, there's a large clearing in the trees. An area devoid of anything other than grass and the occasional bluebell. It looked like someone had already been here. The grass looked trampled, and there was a small, dark shape poorly hidden amongst the bramble thickets on the the other side of the area.

I slowly made my way over. The more I looked, the more I could see scattered about: loose cans, some wrappers, and the odd torn peice of clothing. It looked like someone had died here, smelled like it to. As I neared the end of the clearing, I saw that the dark mass from earlier was a backpack, similar to that of Evan's but not quite his. This one, too, was overstuffed, teeming with packed food, water, and other miscellaneous supplies.

As I continued rummaging, I found something drastically different than the rest of the backpack's contents. A voice recorder, slim black. It was chipped on the edges, but other than that, it was perfectly kept. I slid my fingers over the buttons. Smooth. I pressed play and waited for the sound of a voice to come through.