The whistling lake

[2]

I sit in the tree a little while longer.
Waiting.
Watching.
Or should I say observing.
My shoulder-length green hair blows slightly in the summer breeze and my clothes are tugged by the same small winds.
My name is Idony Spivey. I'm fifteen years old and I have been transferred into a world of chaos and murder. I get a notification when danger is nearby. I have wavy, shoulder-length, green hair and a lighter shade of green for my eye colour. And I need to survive.
I wait.
I watch.
I observe.
I wait more.
Then I hear it.
The distant sound of music.
I listen.
And understand.
We were taught in school when we were young that there are tribes of people from the first world who were transferred into the second world called The Wolf Pack. Survivors of their attacks, but can't find their way home. They play music on their guitars every time a new person is transferred. They help them. As best as they can.
I swing the bag onto my back and slowly start to edge my way down the tree. Some people are watching as I do so and I am careful not to raise suspicion.
Which is hard, as nobody has seen me before and I have bright pink hair.
As you could guess, I have a very subtle look.
I swing down off of a branch and onto the floor. I have just started walking when I notice someone watching me.
Observing me.
The man has black hair hidden underneath a grey beanie hat and a leather jacket. He has a cracked ring on one finger and jeweled boots.
I keep walking.

And so does he.
He is carrying a bag that is pretty big but I'm not worried: my mind hasn't said that danger is nearby yet.

Too soon.
My mind suddenly floods with notifications of !!!!!!RUN!!!!!!! !!!!!! DANGER IS FOLLOWING YOU!!!!!! !!GET OUT OF THERE!!
When he grabs my arm, I try to run. My legs kick and scramble, my mouth screams and cries. But no sound comes out. And no movement happens. My body feels limp and weak... lifeless?
Yes.
Lifeless.
But I'm not dead.
Am I?
Is this what dying feels like?
No.
I'm alive.
I'm not dying.
He is dragging me with ease, as if I weigh nothing. The needle in my arm has made me unable to move.
Wait.
What?
The needle in my arm?
When did that happen. . .?
I don't know and I don't care. All I do know is that I have failed to find myself and that I will die right here, right now. In this very spot.
I wish I could have said goodbye to Laura before she died
I wish I could have seen my friend Millie laugh at least once
I wish I had thrown a party for Thalia after she broke one hundred pencils
Forgive me, Belle.

Hi
Sorry about the shortness, I am writing chapter 3 as fast as I can and I hope you enjoy it!
-Honeydewthe13th