I figured when I woke up there would be some beautiful girl who might happen to live nearby gazing down at and tending to my wounds, or maybe at least one of my parents. I also figured I would be in a house by now. But I figured wrong. When I woke up I was on the forest floor and there was a bug crawling up my T-shirt. My nose felt warm and was throbbing and so was the ridge of my shin. It was almost 6:00 judging by the sun, so it was slightly understandable that no one had come to find me. My mother was probably finishing up unpacking, and my dad would have started dinner by now. They were still under the impression I was out exploring. "I might as well get up" I thought to myself, although the ground was surprisingly comfortable. I pushed up and it felt as if someone was pressing extra stingy nettles to my spots of injury. I hate nettles. I looked at my wounds and they weren't as bad as I worried but it was torture walking the few 100 feet to the house.
When I went in the door I smelled Cheese Fondue but I just found the beat up couch and slept. I wouldn't go back to that rope swing tomorrow, or the next day or the next. I may have only gotten hurt tiny bit, but the tree had gotten it's message across. It didn't want me there.
YOU ARE READING
The Rope Swing
Ficción GeneralOjas had always managed wherever his parents took him. Alaska, Iceland. Kenya. But when he gets stuck in Oregon for a year, and he meets her, everything changes. For better or for worse.
