A / N: A small note on why I haven't written anything. I lost the updated copy of a doc that has several interesting stories. I deleted a lot of files this year and for some reason that doc and another one was removed and I couldn't find it in my USBs or cloud drives. Luckily, there is an older copy from the backup of an old PC. Last updated 2017 though which is a sore for me.
This story comes from the doc.
.
..oOo..
Siren from the Skies
Summary:
The creatures in the Fortress Jungle are behaving abnormally. Finch, a young hunter, takes it upon himself to investigate.
-one-
Finch wiped dew from his face as he continued deeper into the undergrowth. The shadows were deep here, reaching out from under dense leaves and thick vines. He strode through, breathed in and breathed out, hand focused tight on his black spear. The soil below his bare feet held traces of nuts, broken shells and wavy tracks. Hoof prints. He followed them.
Sounds of frightened squealing came from the distance. Finch was instantly on alert and abandoning stealth for swiftness, he launched forward.
He had been trained to hunt and track like this from a young age. As the only son to a chieftain and famous warrior, there was no excuse to do anything but. It was in his fate to be a role model for his tribe and all others who roam the lands. However, despite his attempts to always do the best, his parents often berated him for being immature and lacking responsibility. Now at his age of sixteen and wishing to prove his prowess, he snuck off to the kilijec - the Fortress Jungle - to hunt for the pigs that dwelled there.
His heart trumpeted when the squealing became louder and he dashed forward, spear raised.
But his joy crashed down when his feet inadvertently landed on the peel of a half-eaten nut. The papery thing crackled snappishly.
The kilijec shrunk into unnatural quiet.
Finch swallowed the curse at the tip of his tongue. He strained his ears and wished fervently for the calls of a were-wolf, the roars of lion beasts or the massive thumps of dark bears padding through. He backed away slowly until the balls of his feet connected with another shell.
Creechhh!
He had just one horrifying moment to tense and suddenly the foliage before him flared open. A plump, dirty creature barrelled towards him, sharp tusks smacking his chin. It was enough to send his body flying backwards. And he quickly back into the nearest tree trunk. He slapped some feeling into his jaw as he studied the pig.
The gigantic animal looked ready to tear through him at a moment's notice. There was a crazed haze in its beady eyes and Finch could understand why based on its strange appearance.
An injury scarred its backside, blackened and crusty. Looked like a large maw tore a chunk out of it but never thought to finish their meal. Finch blanched at the sight, wondering how the poor animal could still be alive. Its front dribbled blood from where his black spear had scraped over earlier. He felt slightly guilt for adding to its pain.
The pig pawed the ground several times, chuffing loudly. Finch angled his spear low. He was ready to end its life. No creature should suffer like this.
The pig charged but a step in, its front leg buckled bringing its entire weight down. It fell on its flank with a disgusting slap, the plumpness of its body rippling, yet its legs continued to paw the ground.
Finch raised his spear and brought it down, stilling the creature's twitching,
Once the excitement faded, a heavy stench became apparent. Bile rose up his throat forcefully. He leant away from the hideous evidence and vomited.
Around the behind of the pig pooled chunks of moldy flesh. A whole hive of maggots and gnats wriggled deep inside, content between the entrails that were mushed and bleeding. The rest of its body was a faint purple-black and its legs bore deep gashes. It was long dead even before the killing blow. The smell combined proved it.
After wiping away his sickness, Finch clambered up to retrieve his spear. It came away sticky and dark, darker than the blackwood.
Stumbling, he plunged back the way he came. He ran until familiar fields came into view. There, in the distance was smoke from the village huts. He retched one last time and cleaned the spear on a nearby patch of grasses.
Black goo clung like web on the grass, steaming a little with the smell of rotten flesh.
T.B.C.
...Next chapter tomorrow
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Junkyard
Random⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Welcome to Junkyard ･:*.ೃ࿔⋆ Here is where I post a bunch of words per entry to rebuild my writing groove. Contained within are short stories, poems, rants or non-fic articles, of various themes, on various characters and genres. My goal was...
