"Teague?" I murmured when I felt a hand poke my side. "That's hurts. Stop it, jackass!" I opened my eyes and blindly flung my hand out to the retarded Inuit boy. "!"(A/N: Lols, I don't know where that "!" came from, but I like it. So it stays. XD) The only problem? There was no retarded Inuit boy from me to blindly slap.
There was, on the other hand, a very barked tree. I hissed and pulled my injured hand back to my chest, where the scratch bled momentarily before sealing in front of my shocked eyes. I wiped away a speck of blood, with unblemished skin beneath it.
"Shit," I breathed, looking at my hand as if it were a pink donkey. Well, if my skin hand had healed, maybe my facial skin had, too? I quickly ran over my face, but it was still riddled with bumps. Tough fucking luck, Fisher. No tiny, scabs, though.
Sighing, I got to my feet and looked around. My jacket crinkled and popped as the ice that had settled over it snapped and fell off. I spent another few minutes giggling incessantly as I bent joints and watched the ice crack.
Had I really slept while it was apparently that cold? I wasn't even shivering. I could feel all my fingers and toes bend without a problem or stiffness. Damn, being a shape-shifter fucking rocked.
Then I remember why I was here in these woods, all alone and being hunted by an apparent secret society bent on having me reproduce.
"Fuck my life," I sighed, and wandered over to my bags. After digging for a few minutes, I found the tell-tale cans. After a few more minutes of digging, I didn't find a can opener. I glared at the sealed container of peaches in my hand. Leave it to the person who'd planned this Apocalypse to bring all sorts of preserved foods, but no means of opening them.
"Kudos, Graham," I whispered, but discovered it had absolutely no malice. It sounded more like a cry than a curse. When I felt my eyes begin to burn, I quickly threw the can of peaches back into the bag and heaved both of them over my shoulders. I had no idea where I was going, or even where I was, but at least I had absolutely nothing but mental hurt I'd rather avoid more than anything else to keep my mind occupied.
xXxXxXx
A FEW FUCKING HOURS LATER
"Am I really that bad, Teague?" I hissed to myself, as I had been for a couple hours. "Or maybe it's you. Yeah, it's definitely you. Pretty boy. You guys are always bitches to the ugly ones. Sure, you can pretend to be chummy and shit, but the moment we actually need you? Pfft. You need to go through yourself some pity-party bush, wallow around and make me do all this shit myself, then go off and scratch people's faces off because you're too emotionally fucked to care what'll happen to me if I don't get the hell out of—FUCKING—" my feet slipped on a patch of mud as I attempted to climb down into a ravine. My fingers clawed the wet ground, but only succeeded in taking a small clump of mud with me.
Mud? I questioned for the second I stayed balanced. Wasn't there just ice on my—
That's where I lost any sense of equilibrium. I slid down a river of mud, losing the bags I'd so dutifully dragged through the woods. I dug my fingers into the ground, but my weight was too much and I continued sliding down the hill. My feet rammed into solid ground a few times, but that did nothing more than spin my around in the Slip N' Slid of Doom a little more than what Fisher Keller thought was necessary.
Mud somehow ended up in my mouth, ears, nose, any maybe even toes, but I didn't care much until my descent was stopped by friction. Gagging on the delectable flavor of animal dropping, I swiped the mud from my eyes and took a gander at my situation.
I was caked in mud, that much was clear. The nice fluorescent red I'd had on before was now nearly invisible, covered all the way around in a good half-inch of shitty brown shit. I shut my mouth and exhaled sharply from my nose, exuding a nice ball of more shitty shit. I don't think there was anything I could do for my ears but hope it dried and chipped out. I just wished it would stop making thatHUSHing sound.
Normally, I think I might've thrown a cussing shit fit, but my nerves were fried to stubs and being soaking wet just seemed to toss me into a mental state of why-the-fuck-do-I-even-try-anymore?
Looking forward, I saw my mini-mud-slide had stopped me a few feet from a small outcrop of dirt, where below lay a fast moving river. So, it wasn't the mud tunneled in my ear canal making that noise…
"Damn," I blurted, eyes wide as I watched the white waters below me crash and carry on. "A few more feet and I'd be…" Well, not muddy, that's what I'd be. Maybe I should start appreciating life a little more.
A low sound made me snap my head back to the little mud slide. One of my bags—the one filled with canned food, by the sound—came cascading down the hill. But unlike me, friction didn't have such a nice product. The duffel hit a rock and came spinning towards me.
I only had time to roll my unimpressed eyes before it slammed into the back of my knees, making me crack my head on the outcrop of rock and belly-flop into the white waters of the river, unconscious.
Un. Fucking. CONSCIOUS.
No "Thank You!" card for Life.
YOU ARE READING
Destined Fur More
Teen FictionOverlooked my whole life, living in the shadow of my brother. I wasn't pretty. I wasn't smart. I loved food and was overall hostile. Maybe this is why no one bothered to tell me I was adopted? Let alone mythical creature?
