Nephilims Death

Chapter 3 Don't call me Kid

Snap! I woke up to the striking sound of a branch that I broke when I rolled over it. I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar sight of the forest grounds. How did I get back up here? Where was I? What had happened? The last thing I could remember was falling down a pit, pulling out a porcupine needle out of my foot and then being slammed on the head with something heavy. Rustling sounds came from the bushes. I looked to the left, then to the right, feeling both confused and scared. I couldn't see anything other than shattered glass on the steady soil near me, but I knew that there was something out there, for noises never just raised on their own.

I couldn't remember what happened. When I got up clumsily, brushed myself off and ran my hand over my eyes - a voice kept on telling me to look behind me. I didn't trust that voice, but I had to look behind me. I had to see what was going on behind me. My head throbbed, painfully. There was a swelling the size of a ping pong ball near my temples, and my fists were raw and open. I struggled to remember anything. I turned around slowly, and to my surprise there was nothing. I let out a shakily laugh of relief. I ran my hands through my hair, and that's when I saw it. There was a splotch of blood on the hem of my shirt, and dry blood that caked the palms of both my hands. Blood that certainly wasn't mine, for I didn't have any bruises or scratches on my own skin that would lead to so much blood loss. Just the sight of the blood increased my heartrate rapidly, and that's when the headache started getting more intense. My foot and arm was patched up, but I couldn't remember doing it myself. God, did I kill someone? What was going on? What did I do?

I could hear the sound of the wind blowing the leaves of the long trees that surrounded me around, but that didn't cover up the sound that I heard right after. It came just behind a tree right in front of me. I could see bloody sneakers stick out just scarcely, and the gurgle of blood. Instincts kicked in and I slowly walked around the tree and I walked towards whatever made that sound. I had no weapons, no memory, but I remembered one thing – predators. I tried to remember back, to remember what happened, to remember what I did. God, did I kill whoever this was? I closed my eyes, took a deep breath but kept quiet, and peeked around the tree.

I closed my eyes as I caught the sight of a little boy – about eight years of age – leaning against a rock for support. Blood covered his body from his head to his toe. I could see his eyes peaking up at me with fear, and his chest rising and falling slowly as he was losing consciousness. Blood flew from his arms and wrists and face. I ran towards him immediately, but as soon as I wanted to touch him he whimpered and shook his dying body away from me as if I was the one who did this. I couldn't help but ask myself, did I do this?

I couldn't have. I was attacked myself. He must've tried to kill himself or something or someone else attacked us both . . . right?

It was at that moment when I pushed myself harder to try and remember what had happened. Yet, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember anything. Not even who I was, or how I got here or why I was here. Who was this boy? The only memory I had was falling down a pit, pulling out a porcupine needle from my foot and then being slammed hard against the head. Those were the same images of my last memory that replayed in my head over and over again. The boy tilted over from the pain and I caught him and held him up with both my hands.

"What happened?" I asked and he started to hit at me hard with all his might and he cried over and over again at me not to hurt him, he pleaded at me to stop. I wasn't doing anything. I hesitated as I didn't know what to do. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I just want to help you." I said and the boy started to settle down, continued to breathe heavily and he shut his eyes, streaks of tears flowing out of his eyes like the wax gliding off of a candle. I held him closer and told him that it was going to be okay. I assured him that everything was going to be okay, even though I knew that something terrible happened and it wasn't going to be okay. I tried making him sit up to keep him awake and conscious, but after a moment he shut his eyes. I tried waking him up. No reaction. I placed him softly against the tree, and dug into the pockets of my jeans to find any form of identification. I had no ID, no wallet, no nothing.