Since she was a young girl Rose Duvall had been on her own. From the time that she was just six years old all that she could remember was the trauma and abuse. She never knew love, companionship. She knew what it was supposed to look like, but never...
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On the other side of the riverbank, only a few feet from where I lay, stood one of the North East's most fearsome creatures. Stalking the water on all fours, its powerful muscles contracted against its light brown coat, its lengthy black tail swung dangerously low behind it. Mother nature cleared her path for the true ruler of these woods. There, only a few feet away stood the largest catamount that I had ever come across, and I was in its territory.
It hadn't yet noticed me as it satisfied its thirst. As it slurped at the water, I saw all too clearly the massive teeth that belonged to it, weapons that could kill in a sin
A primal fear took hold, bringing forth a spark of energy I previously thought impossible. Slowly, I got to my feet, grabbing the fur pelt, completely disregarding my once prized water jug. Maybe there was a chance that the creature wouldn't see me, and if it did maybe it would think that I was a larger predator than itself.
In the back of my mind I knew the truth. Big cats were notorious for smelling the fear off of their prey.
I remember seeing that in a documentary once. Years ago, when my father would go bar hopping, and it was just my mother and I left to ourselves I found the only senses of normalcy in my whole messed up childhood.
At the start of it my mother would find herself in between the steam of an oven and the cage of an oven mitt. She loved cooking, and with the lack of options given to her I think it was her only way of creating something wonderful. She would never admit it but she reveled in any praise that she would get from her casseroles or pastries. I reckon it was the only time that she felt important.
I remember almost every detail during those times because there were only a small handful of them. She took her time to educate me on everything that she could. As if she was cramming in as much knowledge into my brain as she could, because she too knew that this simple, quiet life would never last.
For a short time there was always a hands-on lesson outdoors. While we were inside, animal planet or the discovery channel played in the background as we cooked to our hearts content. Sometimes it was about the creation of the world, sometimes about the myths and legends of different cultures, but more often than not in my younger years there would be a documentary on different types of animals.
Faintly I recalled something about big cats, specifically mountain lions that were stealthy creatures, stalking their prey before pouncing on them in their most vulnerable moment. I could just imagine those large fang-like teeth penetrating my skin as I screamed helplessly in its grasp.
A gulp sounded from the pit of my hoarse throat. The taste of my own blood rested on the tip of my tongue. A sneak peak of what was sure to come if I didn't make it out of here sooner.
Slowly and carefully I backed away, holding in my quivering breaths the best that I could. My concentration, too solely focused on my breathing, disregarded the carefulness of my movements. The snap of a broken twig echoed through the air like a blow horn.
