The Pixie Dust Gardens

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It was all his fault that Wendy was running for her life. The old rickety trees loomed over her, their leaves blocking any sort of light that the moon provided. The ground was slippery with mud from the rain of the night before. She gasped for air, lungs thudding pathetically from within her chest. It seemed that all those years of staying home had finally come back to bite her in the ass. (Not that she had much of a choice in the first place.)

She didn't ask to be chased by gangsters either, no, but she had the stupid man to thank for that. She continued running; large cuts and scrapes now decorated her long brown legs, and her light blue dress that was once elegant and proper was now dirty and tattered. She didn't know how long she could go on for. The men behind her had gotten closer, and the sound of guns piercing wood was almost deafening. One thing was for sure, Wendy was scared, and she had every right to be. 

She was at the edge of the woods. The clouds glowed a seemingly red color hiding the moon inside of its body. It was stupid of her to stop and look at the sky as if it held the answers to all her problems. It wasn't too much of a view in the first place. The stars didn't twinkle as bright as it did the night before, and it was more cloudy and dark, just as it was the night she met the no-good man, with his stupid brown eyes that were filled with mischief. The sound of their guns was getting closer. Wendy just about had it with all the running.

As a child, her mother had always said, "A lady must never run, but she must always be quick on her feet." Now it just felt like she was mocking her, but what else was new?

Wendy fell to her knees, the dirt stinging her open wounds. Yet, she knew that she was still her mother's daughter, and if that said anything at all, it would be that if there was no pain, there was no gain. She just hoped that she could get out of this forest alive. 

The gasps were coming quicker now, even quicker than before as the footsteps came closer and closer. She imagined that the men were giving themselves pats on the back for catching up to her. If it was a different situation Wendy would've surely rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. 

"Typical men," she'd say, as if it were her catchphrase. However, this surely wasn't the time for snide remarks. 

When they caught up, one of the men chuckled to himself. "Isn't she a fast one," he said, out of breath.

If she had kept running she would've probably escaped, but something held her rooted in place. 

"Sure, but we still caught her, didn't we," the other said, the voice a familiar bellow. 

"Saul," she scoffed. She should've known, after all. Deep down she had always known that the man was nothing but trouble. 

"Wendy. It's been a while, hasn't it doll." He smiled.

"Not long enough in my books."

He laughed, "You were always a funny one, weren't you?" His smile disappeared as he grabbed her coily hair. 

It hurt, but Wendy didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was in pain. 

"And you were always a little bitch, weren't you? That's why we were such good friends, right?" she said, voice laced with a sarcastic venom. 

Saul got closer to her ear, "I don't think you understand what situation you're in, Darling," he whispered, his hot breath tickling against her ear, making her shiver in disgust. And maybe she didn't understand. Afterall, she didn't understand how this had happened in the first place, all she knew was that she needed to get out. 

"Maybe I don't, but you sure can explain it real well." She said her chocolate browns meeting his icy blue eyes. 

"Maybe, but I don't wanna."