A Nightingale Must Sing

Chapter - 1

The sun shone down in blazing rays of heat. Bare feet; pounding against the hot asphalt road. Breathing; laboured and causing a cold, sharp pain in the lungs. Legs; numb from the long hours of running. When escaping your tormentors of three years, at night, adrenaline is the only source of energy.

No food, no water, just the hope that she will reach safety soon. The lilac-haired girl felt faint, bile was rising up in her throat, the heat taking a tole. The invisible pull seemed to be the only thing that kept her going. 

Out in the middle of god-knows-where, only a few cars drove past, and a significant fewer offered their assistance. She couldn't trust them. She wouldn't trust them. Maybe they would take her back. Back to her tormentors. The vehicles they were driving in looked like they could stop her from escaping. No, no. She has to run. She can't go back there. No! No, please. Not back there. She kept pushing her feet; now covered in blisters and scars and burns and blood. Kept pushing them to run further, faster. She had run for so long that the pain was no longer there. It was just a numbing, dull throb, just an annoying feeling she tried to ignore. Her legs felt like jelly, maybe she'll fall over. But how could she when her legs were so used to running they were doing it automatically. 

Hours of running, time dragging on, the sun moved but it felt like she wasn't. The road dragged on. No houses in sight. The few cars that passed by lessened in numbers, until, there was no one. No one but the lonesome girl that was in desperate need of medical attention, a forest that was starting to rise from the horizon, and an endless road. Perhaps the trees will give her some shade from the horrible heat. 

Nothing seemed familiar. Years of being shut away from the light, away from civilisation. Only needles, punches, hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair, and creaking beds clouded her memories. She wished she could remember. Anything, just one little thing would do. Maybe, who she was.

As she ran into the forest, she couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to go this way after all. A sensible person would follow the road. A sensible person would go looking for help and try to stay out of danger. Maybe that's who she was; not a sensible person. She was, after all, running into a forest, away from people and help, and toward animals and dangers of all kinds. But the pull had a hold on her and she couldn't let go. She couldn't escape it no matter how hard she tried. Something told her to go this way. Instinct. She had to trust it. Besides, anywhere was better than that grubby cell. Anywhere was better than being with Him.

The shade helped a little, the coolness from the ground soothed her aching feet, but the sticks and stones that littered the forest floor had the opposite effect. They cut further into her pale feet, creating new wounds and opening old ones. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. A burning substance coursed through her veins and made her feel weak. She would have stopped by now. She should have stopped by now. But the pull wouldn't let her. She was begging to stop, to let her catch her breathe, find some water and maybe some berries to eat. If she was lucky, they could be poison ones. But the pull wouldn't even let her slow down. Secretly, she was glad. She knew that if she did stop, she wouldn't be able to go again. If that happened, He could easily catch up to her.

It hurt, oh goodness how it hurt. It hurt so much her body became numb. Her mind became numb. The feeling was so contradicting, she didn't know what it truly was. How could something be so excruciating and yet simultaneously not hurt? She had to endure the suffering though. Endure it just a little longer. 

Tree branches scraped against her face and tore at her already ruined clothes. Her dirty, pastel blue tank top had holes and rips all over. One strap had broken off and the only thing keeping it from falling off was the amount of blood that stuck the fabric to her skin. The black, floral skirt she wore was tattered and ripped too, but not from the branches. Unless branches were hands, and the trees were people. People that towered over her and reached for every place they could. These were the clothes she wore that fateful day. The only clothes she had. The only clothes she will continue to have unless she miraculously found a shop that sold free clothes and shoes. Or she decided to live in the forest and make clothes out of leaves and animal skin. 

Grey-eyes tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill. The tears that began to distort the images and world that flashed before her as she ran. The tears that caused her to feel dizzy; more than what she already felt. The tears drained her more as they took what little water she had left, making her feel more dehydrated than before. The tears that caused her headache to grow, her breaths to waver,  her voice to break as she tried harder to hold back cries of pain and misery.

The sky began to darken as the sun went down. Purple, pink, and peach clouds peaked through the canopy. Her pulse spiked as the dread of what could happen, in the forest, at night, dawned on her. She pushed harder. She had to. It was the only way. Who knows what kind of dangers were in the forest. Her whole body screamed to stop. But she couldn't. Not now.

Relief flooded through her as a bright light came in view. As she drew nearer, she took notice that it was a lampost. A lampost meant people. But she didn't want to be with people. Yes she did. No, no, she didn't. They were cruel and spiteful and inflicted pain, whether they knew it or not. She didn't want to be with people. She wanted to be with one. Wait what? No. Just, just keep trusting the pull. Worry about that later. 

The forest floor soon changed to asphalt and the trees lessened in numbers. A few houses appeared. Houses and people. People and cars. Cars and roads. And she ran. Ran faster. She was almost there. The pull was getting stronger. She made sure to run on the pathway instead of the road since there was considerably a lot more cars driving. The few people that were enjoying a nice stroll that evening, were unsuspecting of the dirty girl racing towards them. They jumped to the side in shock and gave her strange looks as she passed. She tried apologising, but it was too late, she was already a good distance away, and she doubted her voice woud have worked well enough to form the words. 

She ran down streets, turning corners, and dodging people. Until finally, she reached a door. Her bloodied hand balled into a fist and she pounded the door with as much strength as she could muster. She heard rustling come from inside. A voice that was muffled behind the door but drawing closer. Her ears rung, her head hurt, black spots started to appear in her sight. The door swung open and a man stood in front of her. She couldn't get a good look at him because the black spots multiplied. "Ovidia?" The man couldn't quite grasp the fact that she was here, she was alive! Oh how he was so pleased. Life seemed to flood back into his eyes. Ovidia on the other-hand, couldn't quite grasp the last bit of strength she had and fainted right on his doorstep. Wondering how he knew her name.