Predator

A Quivering Lip

The boy turned out to be farther than I thought he would have been able to get, but still not as far as he probably should have been before he started calling out for help. I can understand why he would think it was safe though. He had gotten about half a mile between us. Unfortunately...or fortunately, haven't decided yet....I was able to jog it in no time at all.

Coming up behind the boy as he slumps against a tree, holding his leg, I can see a look of pain etched on his face. The adrenaline must of worn off so that he can feel his gashes now. Reluctantly, I look down at the torn up flesh and almost gag from the sight. He whimpers, trying to put weight on it, but it protests with every attempt.

He's at a standstill, unable to move any further. I'm somewhat glad that I came back to help him now. Otherwise, he would have surely died from blood loss out here.

Getting closer to him, I make an effort to create a little noise in my movements so that I don't surprise him in my approach.

That doesn't work.

The boy nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears someone behind him, and then about has a mental breakdown when he sees that it's me. He falls backwards, unable to keep his balance with his hurt leg.

"No, please!" He begs, holding up a shaky hand as if it would stop me if I still had the intentions of killing him. He begins to cry, "Please don't! I just want to go home. Please, just let me go home. Please!"

My heart completely shatters. Completely. There are no pieces left that I would consider to be whole.

He's defeated. He's truly broken down and knows that there's no way of him saving himself if I decided to finish him off. Of course, he doesn't know that it's me which is favorable for the both of us.

Holding up my hands to show him that I mean no harm, I stay where I am so that I don't scare him more. "I'm sorry," is all I'm able to mumble out as the boy's reaction towards me seizes my heart.

The boy looks confused and upset as he continues to keep his guard up. He slowly scoots himself further away from me, frightened of our close proximity even though I'm at least 20 feet away from him.

"Please don't run again," I plead. Hopefully my expression is giving off some form of sincerity, because I need him to believe me when I tell him, "I want to help you get home."

So many looks cross his face in such a short amount of time. Stunned, surprise, puzzlement, wonder, caution, eagerness, hope, uncertainty, shame, helplessness, distrust, and then finally anger.

"Why are you doing this?" He spat, hatefully.

I stayed silent, unsure of how to answer him in a way that might convince him that I really do mean well.

Shaking his head with exhaustion, he continues. "Look, man. I just want to go home, ok? I'm done playing your 'games.' I'm going to go home." Saying the last bit with more certainty as if it was going to go exactly the way he said it, he rambled on. "I'm going to leave, go home, have a cold bath, make some hot cocoa, take a sip of it, throw it out because I don't know how to make hot cocoa, play a game online, knock out around 6:30 in the morning, wake up at 7 to go to school because I forgot that tonight is Sunday night and tomorrow morning will be Monday morning, then end up passing out in my classes later and receive a detention for it sometime later in the day. Probably in Chemistry...Yea, probably then...A-a-and I'm going to continue on with my life as if none of this ever happened. I'm going to forget you exist. I'm going to forget that any of this happened. And I'm going to make a mental clip note to never come out into the woods ever again. But since I'm going to forget that this all ever happened, I'm just going to have to give myself the reasoning that someone as skinny and fragile and pale as me is far better suited to staying inside and being a nerd on my computer where it is safe and there aren't monsters and...and....and....well, I don't know what else, but I know there is plenty more to add on to that."