Don't Starve

Darkness

Wilson's P.O.V:

     The sun is drifting close to the horizon, giving only a dim orange light to this land. I guess that we only only have a few minutes until sundown, perhaps a half hour. I stare down at the empty fire pit; Wendy still hasn't come back yet and its been almost two hours. She took the last ax with her because I thought she would be back before nightfall with wood. I fear that she has left me here alone. She doesn't know what she's doing. She has no idea of the horrors this land contains when the light goes out. I trace the scar on my chest, trying to feel the edges where the shadows pulled at my skin. I can't help but to think about Willow running off into the forest. I remember the darkness crowding my vision as my skin began to rip off my chest. I would never be alive if she hadn't flicked on her lighter. That night as I was clinging onto life, she abandoned me. She fled into the forest without saying a word. I was too weak to follow her. She was a stupid girl and I bet she is dead because of that mistake. That ungrateful, little brat should have never left me. I close my eyes and can almost she the look on her face as she turned away and ran straight into the forest. I didn't need her. I crawled my way back to the camp, because I was too weak to stand on my own legs. When I finally regained my strength, I was stupid enough to go and chase down that brat. I open my eyes as I feel warm liquid in the palm of my hand. I hadn't realized until now that my hands were curled into fists, and that my fingernails had dug into my skin. I wipe the blood away with my finger and look back up to the horizon. Two silhouettes as posted, just a few feet away. I stand and squint my eyes to make out the figures. They both look very small, about as small as a young child. Great, another child for me to babysit. As the figures grow closer, I can clearly see that one is Wendy. She is walking and holding hands with the other child. I try to make out the other figure, but it almost looks like a mirage. She looks to be the same height as Wendy and general shape. Its almost as if the second child isn't even there, that she is more of a figure of my imagination. As they come closer to me, I can make out most of the girl's face, although it is still hazy. She looks surprisingly like Wendy, except her hair is tied in two long braids and she has a flower tied into her hair, just above her left ear. I blink a few times, figuring that I am seeing double because of lack of sleep. The small girl is still there, holding on gently to Wendy's hand. I would've assumed it was Willow, but she looked to young and her hair was blonde. I stood up and as soon as they saw me looking at them, the little girl faded away. Wendy's hand dropped by her side and she grew sad. She grabbed onto the ends of her backpack, which was already too heavy for her to carry and dragged herself down to camp.

Wendy's P.O.V:

    I poke at the fire with a stick and watch as the flames lick at the sky and air around it. Wilson keeps glancing at me and scowling. I don't trust him. Abigail kept telling me that she didn't like him. She said that there was something bad floating in the atmosphere around him.  I looked over at him. He was sitting near the fire and staring down at his right hand, flexing them and examining them like they weren't on his hand. He has been doing that quite a lot lately, or at least whenever I'm around. Abigail watches him sometimes, when I'm sleeping or he leave to find supplies. She says that he talks to himself a lot and that he is making some kind of machine. At least, that is what she thinks. He is mumbling about some kind of well at the moment. I don't even think he knows he does that; not like I am going to be the one to tell him. He glances over me again and I advert my eyes. When I think that he has looked away, I go back to staring at him. Cold drifts against my back and I shiver, I know Abigail is hiding behind me. She sets a hand onto my shoulder and everything begins to feel better.

    "Look at his right arm," she whispered into my ear, her breath coming out bitterly cold. Wilson's body, except for the right side of his face, is lit up with the light from the fire. I run my eyes over his left arm and see what Abigail is talking about. The skin on his arm is slowly moving, pulsating in a soothing way, like its taking in air. Like its breathing. I loose myself in its rhythm, straining myself to see its movements.