The shrubbery under your back is poking through your light jumper, prodding you for an answer. The tree you've racked your head up against is putting your neck at an odd angle, forcing you to look into their crazed eyes.
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
A cruel smile, a senile chuckle. They release the grip on your jumper that you didn't realize they had, standing up and turning their back to you. Loose black sweats, black sweater, hood up.
You begin to quietly work your way up the tree into a stand as their manic cackles grow. You're sure they would be attracting attention if anyone else were here. But there isn't. You realize now that perchance they're not so haphazard as they seem; they are the only one here in the park with you.
Not even old Lady Mari is sitting on her worn bench, throwing crumbs for the pigeons and toads and chipmunks.
Hysteria seems to have taken over the certifiable person, of whom you can not even determine their gender.
Quietly, you creep away. Each twig that snaps rigs your anxiety, but they don't notice; too lost in their delirium.
Do you...
Continue on your run?
Skip to "Away from the Park"
Return home?
Skip to "Good Bye Park"
YOU ARE READING
Futile Trials
AdventureThis is a your choice story. But choose carefully, many of these paths will lead to an unfortunate end.
