Rebellious

❇ Chapter 4 ❇

I begin climbing down the steep valley that leads to the small village. I have to grab on to various branches for support in the thick maze of trees, my goal simply to travel down. I hear yet another low grumble and dart off towards the buildings, completing my rock-climbing-like sequence much more quickly. I can just see some small houses way off in the distance. They're so close, yet so far away. Just keep going down.

I cringe slightly as a branch swings and slashes across my face. I am spooked by almost every type of thing that could hurt me. Why was I so afraid of something that would never actually hurt me? Everything had been thrown at me so harshly and quickly, I am still desperately on edge. Anything could find me out here. For all I know, the killer still lurks.

I could die at any moment. Death is inevitable, no matter how much I fear it or try to prevent it. Sooner or later, my time will come. Even if it is sooner, which it now looks like it is, I have to learn to cope with fear and then push it behind me. I cannot be so afraid of dying, or it will lead to my actual death.

I cannot die. I must live, for my family.

Then again, at least I had a reason. Anyone that was put in the situation of seeing their parents dead deserved to be afraid of such tragic events. But I am not a tragedy. I am no longer a scared little girl hiding in the forest, merely waiting to be killed off as well. I have already told myself that I must survive, alone if necessary. Weakness and fear are not characteristics of a survivor.

My thoughts once again consume me as I routinely thrust myself down the hill and grab thick branches as necessary. The afternoon light is merely a small glow reflected on the vibrant green leaves of the grass and trees. This dim lighting is perfect for thought, I realize, and wonder how long I've relied on my subconscious to guide me down the mountain.

I literally don't know what hits me when I smack into a large, rustic log house.

I immediately fall to the ground at an odd angle. Pain sears through my foot. I look down and realize I've made the classic mistake: I've broken my ankle. My foot lies at an odd, unnatural angle on the floor. I can't lift myself up and am stuck, helpless, on the floor. 

I don't want to yell for help. I don't want to admit that I need help from others. I am a survivor, and I am meant to be alone. Besides, who in their right minds would come anywhere near a girl with torn clothes and a battered-up face coming straight out of the woods?

I lay down on the floor and sit for awhile. Constant pain sears through my foot, reminding me of my predicament. I'm in such a strange position that it's nearly impossible to lift myself up without damaging my foot some more. I try to at least drag myself across the ground with no use.

I lay there for a moment. Several moments. A timeless but long and boring period goes by of me just sitting there, awaiting a rescue that I knew would never come. And yet, I couldn't figure this situation out on my own. I'd traveled the forest preparing myself to be a survivor, to be someone who didn' t need anyone else to solve her problems. But that mentality did not apply here.

After the long, boring, and indecisive period passes, I find myself crying for help against my own instruction. I couldn't even follow my own simple rules. How was I meant to be a survivor?

And yet, I scream on, "Help! HELP!" I hoped someone in the huge log house would hear me; for awhile, nothing came.

Then, a voice shouts back, "Just hang on a second!" And seconds later, a boy, about 17, appears hoping to rescue me.

"Do you need help?" He asks, then looks down at my ankle. "Wow, that looks pretty bad."

"Do you think you could just help me up?"

He gladly agrees and lifts me up onto my feet with ease. "Do you want to come inside? I can give you some ice and crutches if you want," He offers.

"No, I'm fine," I retort. "I can survive on my own, thank you very much."

"You obviously can't. You can't walk on that ankle, much less try to survive out here on your own!"

He had a point. "Just leave me alone, okay?" I say. That was enough help from other people for me. I hated the fact enough that he helped me up in the first place. It was a small gesture, but something I wasn't able to do on my own. Having him shelter me in this enormous log cabin would be taking way too much help from some stranger. I'm better off without his help, I tell myself.

"No, you know what, you're coming inside. I can't just leave you like this." He tries to scoop me up and carry me inside, but I squirm out of his grasp and hit the dirt ground with a thud.

"Oh my god, what was that for!" The boy screams. "You could've hurt yourself! You know what? You don't want my help; I'm done!" He leaves me laying there and runs back to the other side of the house.

I hear footsteps crunching against the dirt and pine needles, and then a door slam from the other end of the house. I stare into the distance, seeing endless towering pine trees, some fully visible, others just the tips of trees as they disappear with the slope of the landscape. Yet another rush of thoughts comes crashing into my head.

What have you done? Part of me complains. You had help right in front of you! A big house, ice for your ankle, a comfortable bed to sleep in...

The temptation is too hard to resist. I really am helpless at this point, and this part of me has finally overruled my virtuous, survival-oriented self. I couldn't follow my family's legacy and survive on my own. It'd probably be best just to give up.

"WAIT!" I yell at the boy. "Come back!"

Within minutes, he's back. "I knew you'd come running back to me eventually," he says with a smirk.

"Too soon," I grumble, mentioning my ankle. I don't resist this time as he takes me inside.