III
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Section three.
The boy moved slowly, his mind still wrapped around what happened earlier. The moon shone brightly from above, but couldn’t hope to illuminate his thoughts. The trees scurried past him; hurried to veer off of his path. He felt isolated, more so than his life in the shack. His knife was still clutched tightly in his hands as he walked.
He felt like the air was disgusted by him, his breathing quick and unsteady, sprinting out of his lungs. Water didn’t seem fond of him, frightened out of his body from the corners of his eyes. The world seemed so cruel, as did he. He didn’t want to adapt.
He collapsed, beginning to sob. He’d been walking aimlessly until his feet hurt. He grieved for a murder he didn’t mean to commit. He didn’t know the person, but he felt that he’d wronged them. When he felt that his tears had dried up, he opened his eyes, but what he saw terrified him further.
His reflection. His eyelids were glued to the seams, leaving his eyes bloodshot and strained. His lips were sealed into a tight lock, and his hair stuck to his forehead, akin to veins. He found it eerie. He didn’t look like he should, he thought. ‘Murderer,’ he thought. His surroundings seemed to jeer at him. Wind screamed at him as trees came alive, “Murderer!” they taunted, “Murderer!”
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“Why was it so easy?” he thought. It was supposed to be harder than that, it was supposed to be difficult. He wasn’t supposed to go through with it, they should have ran away.
After a while, a splash echoed as the sobbing ceased. He hadn’t vented all he could have, he’d fallen asleep from exhaustion. The side of his face, immersed in the muddy rainwater, reflected an innocent slumber. His breathing was even, unlike when he was awake. He no longer afforded the outside world his attention, his untold dreams were more important. They soothed him. The trees had long stopped their ramblings, stood in place as they watched over him.
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Two eyes as clear as the depths of the night sky opened slowly, reflecting the thawing sunlight shining through the leaves and grass poking out of the melting snow. Caught distracted by nature’s beauty, the boy hadn’t noticed that half of his face was soaked, covered in wet leaves.
“Drool?” he muttered, pushing himself off of the ground. Suddenly, he felt a pinch and a wriggle on the side of his face, immediately swatting at his cheek. Met with a slippery sensation, he swatted again. Finally, the object was flung to the side. His cheek began to sting even more as air brushed past, glancing over to a spot on the ground. There is was; a leech.
He almost gagged and spun around immediately. His blood dripped from his chin into the puddle below. Leeches and eels weren’t rare here, but his elation at sunlight was quickly stomped out.
Fate was a slippery thing. One moment, he was admiring the calm of his pond, the next, he was forced to flee, starving and being attacked by pests. It was only beginning to warm up again, but frankly, he missed the cold. At least these pests weren’t as bold then.
In remembrance of yesterday’s affairs, he stood still and contemplated. What should he do now? What he did earlier clarified in his mind; wouldn’t it make things more difficult for him? Who knew who their affiliates were. Taking solace in the fact that there was no way he could know, he walked. Anywhere other than his broken home would suffice.