The Moon and His Sun

"Please, help."

His eyes widen frighteningly at the painfully emitted voice around the bushes. He stopped and turned to listen where the voice actually came from. Should he rush for help? Or should he just leave and not bother to look back at the shaky voice behind? Surely his mind must be playing tricks on him at this time of the night.

He stood there in the middle of the park trying to stay calm and collected. He balled his fist and tried to muster up the courage to leave the place all at once. But why is his feet stood rooted to the ground?

As he gathered his energy to take a step after 2 minutes, he once heard again the voice, except this time it's groaning in pain. Quickly, he fumbled on his pockets to get his phone with a shaky hand, he got it just in time after he heard the bushes rustling.

"Who's there?" he shouted as confidently as he can but managed to crack his voice after the first word. Fuck. Another rustling prompt him to shine his flashlight that is built-in with the phone to the bushes nearby, swaying from left to right as he cannot quite manage to see where the voice came from.

"Help me," someone he heard, said dreadfully. The voice sounded like a man's. But it more sounded like a witch that had smoked 50 cigarettes daily to make it this hoarse. Or was it in tremendous pain that he or she sounded like that.

He groaned in anger and apprehension. He paced back and forth before deciding to lend a hand.

"If tonight's the night I die," he looked at the sky before looking down spotting the rustling of the bushes at the right side of his front, "then I die out of curiosity and willingness to help."