Although your garden may look fairly good, your neighbor's looks even better. There's a tall wooden fence dividing your yards, but that's no issue. You easily slip through where there is a plank missing, and the surrounding boards are loose.
Taking your time, you gather all the produce you want. Dissolution is nothing new. What is the point of life if not to be spoiled?
With arms full of scrumptious edibles, you begin to mosey back towards the fence. When you hear a deep moan from behind you, close to the house, however, you freeze. Your neighbor is awake.
Putting on your most unassuming innocent face, you turn to the door to beg forgiveness, only to find your neighbor is most certainly not awake... It's something far worse.
The moan comes again, and this time, you can see the body rising from the darkness. The guttural sound metamorphs into a growl, interrupted by curt, powerful snorts.
The beast rises to its feet, its massive front paws swinging dangerously.
A black bear. He must have wandered in from the forest. He got past the guard dogs out front, because he must have attacked them!
The vegetables thunder against the ground as you drop them all to your feet, stumbling back towards the fence.
Run. Just run.
But your legs won't move. You're frozen with fear.
The bear drops down onto all fours and begins to move for you.
Run!
The fence is only feet away. You scramble over their picnic table and slam against the boards of the fence, pushing your hands through the narrow opening.
Your heart pounds and your feet kick as you try to push through as fast as you can, but it's not fast enough.
The hungering beast is upon you; its hot breath swims upon your leg as it clamps those massive fangs around your leg, sinking them in without ado.
He drags you from the fence, away from your escape, as if you are not struggling and screaming and punching and kicking for your life.
The bear flings you this way and that, beating you against the ground until you are truly senseless; a headache pounding and orientation absent.
A paw squeezes down on your chest: there's a few cracks as your ribs snap like toothpicks. That hot, sticky breath is on your neck, and you wrench your head away in an attempt to obviate the stench of death. It's in that final glimpse that you see that old man standing there, watching you with horror and pity. He can do nothing! He can do nothing for the thief in his garden!
He can do nothing as the bear lackadaisically rips out your throat and you bleed to death.
Game Over
YOU ARE READING
Futile Trials
AdventureThis is a your choice story. But choose carefully, many of these paths will lead to an unfortunate end.
