In response to Photo – Fiction #1
Mom told me not to go into the woods at night.
“Don’t venture out” she pleaded, shifting the curtains and peeking at the torrent outside. I didn’t listen for the 50th time, Granny needed her meds, it was just that simple. There shouldn’t be any hesitation about that.
“Please” she whispered one last time. This time with a tear rolling down her face. Mom was scared, but it would be worse if Granny didn’t get her meds, so I grabbed the basket and my hoody and left Mom and her frightened wails behind.
And for a while I’m fine, just me and my thoughts and roar of the rain, watching the mud and water part under my sneakers. Then he’s there, in my face, just like that. Breathing hot and heavy in my face. He sniffs, He snarls, then it’s black.
It’s black and I’m falling, always with the falling. But I can still hear, I can still hear the snarls and the thuds of flesh colliding, I can hear as they mellow into grunts and groans and then there is quiet. Even the rain has stopped roaring. Just quiet and darkness.
‘Til the bite of serrated plastic on my wrists. And rough hands shaking me awake.
“You have the to remain silent….” It’s happened again. Another one of the pack gone. My pack. My brothers in arms, my family.
This is why Mom cries when I leave at night, this is her fault, this is the result of her hesitation, the night I needed to get my meds.