Chapter 4
My first instinct is to run where no one will find me. I know for a fact they will look for me in the most logical places. So what I have to do is go to the most illogical place and in this town there is only one illogical place.
It is teeming with wild animals, mainly poisonous cobras, scropions and other animals that can kill you in a second. The land is rough and pricks your feet. There are thousands and thousands of sharp cactuses growing there. A few dangerous swamps, here and there. No one ever goes there, except for the deranged hunters who think they're brave enough to risk it.
It's so illogical, yet it makes perfect sense.
I run towards the jungle.
Aderine runs through my veins, giving me a rush of energy. I can feel my heart beating, the blood flowing through my body. My legs are screaming, protesting, begging me to give up but I keep running until I reach the heart of the jungle.
It's not so bad. I can easily navigate through the terrain. I've always been interested in botany so I can make out the dangerous plants and the harmless ones. I sit down on the grass and plan out my way in my head, taking a mental snapshot of the terrain and finally, I get up and continue running.
It slows down to walking since I have to make sure to look at my feet to assure I don't get in the way of any cactuses or cobras.
By the time I get to the river, I feel like I'm in one of those adventure books. The really old one where the hero goes and gets lost in the woods and needs to hunt and navigate the terrain for his survival. Except I'm not some 90s hero, and I'm never going to get my happily ever after.
I can convince myself I'm happy, but I know I never will be truly happy till I can erase this guilt, till I get forgiveness for all my mistakes.
I look around and my eyes spot a building in the distance. It's not a high rise, or an apartment block or a villa. It's a small cabin. It looks like it's made out of wood. Surrounding the cabin is endless greenery. The greenery looks somewhat dangerous and I can make out a lot of cacti and plants that look dangerous. And slowly, a smile illuminates my features.
The most illogical place.
It's time to run again.
*
The cabin was pretty small, on the whole. It had two rooms. The first room was decked with a couch that was so dusty you could barely make out the color, a rickety old chair and a weak dining table. The other room was better, with a bed that looked somewhat new and a bookshelf. My first thought was to go to the bookshelf.
I had no idea how long I'd stay in hiding, but as long as I was here, I'd better have something to do.
My hand ran over the titles. They all were old books but I didn't mind. I never cared much for the modern, boy meets girl books.
I thanked fate for giving the cabin a bookshelf. Reading is my only escape. When I read, nothing matters anymore. Who I am doesn't matter, what I did doesn't matter. I am transported into a world that is mine to explore. It gives me a false sense of hapiness. Because when I read, it doesn't matter that I killed Finn Woods, it's only the story that matters.
I believe instead of waiting years to achieve nirvana, all we can do is constantly read books and forget about the real world.
I bury myself in Moby Dick and I stay like that for about an hour till I hear faint noises. I can hear footsteps coming to the cabin and my ears perk up.
It's not a search party, that's for sure because if it was, there would be more commotion, more noise. The footsteps are soft.
I search for a hiding spot, just in case and hide behind a wall.
A boy enters the cabin. He has golden brown hair and brown eyes. He's carrying a rope with him. His head is hanging.
And I have a sick feeling in my stomach. I know that look. I can read it easily. That was the look Fin Woods wore when he enterred our garden.
He struggles to fasten the rope on a rod on the roof.
There is a war in my mind.
Save him.
Don't, he wants to die.
Save him.
Don't, let him be free.
Save him like you never saved Finn Woods.
Finn Woods wanted to die.
Save him.
He wants to die.
Save him.
I peer at him as he steps on the stool. Unlike Finn Woods, he does not look determined. He looks hesitant. He looks questioning.
And I know I cannot let him die. I have to reach out for him. I cannot let him die like I let Finn Woods die. I need to let him live, I need to save him because I know that the voices in his head are telling him that there is a purpose to his life, that there is more to come, that one day he will be happy, truly, blissfully happy.
And I cannot let him die. If he dies, that spark of hope in him dies. And no one wants hope to die.
So I take a deep breath and step into the room.
