Today I woke up free.

That word feels powerful to me. It is a recognition both that I have yet to live a life of my own and that I will do so from this day forth. Freedom is something millions of people have fought and died for throughout the countless millennia of human history. The right to choose is perhaps the bloodiest liberty discovered by our greedy race. And though I may not have fought for it, I did die for it.

It rained last night. That was my second thought. I have heard that freedom tastes sweet but for now, it is cold and wet. On the upside, this should mean my makeshift leaf drinking fountain should be ready for use.

That thought in mind I decided from my perch and walked over to my clumsy contraption. As I presumed, the light rainfall was enough to fill many of the leaves with delicious and hydrating acidic rain. The taste of dirt and stone only furthered enhanced the flavor of this rare delicacy. I shouldn’t be complaining. The mere fact that I water to drink at all was quite fortunate.

After filling up as best I could, I figured it was time to get moving again. This did not mean that I had any idea where to go but I’ve always had a wanderlust. It had been caged in my white-walled prison for far too long and I was anxious to set it free.

Surprisingly, my journey had barely started when I heard a strange sound coming from somewhere nearby. My stomach immediately set to rumbling and I could only hope that the noise I heard would lead me to food of some sort.

I quickly set off in the direction that I believed it came from. I did not know what I would find nor did I have any idea of what to do when I found it. However, most any change in circumstance would be an improvement from naked and alone in the woods.

A moment later and I was but a treeline away from where I had heard the disturbance. It was more clearly audible now. It was a humming of sorts, much like a bird but less natural and a pinch deeper. Not that it wasn’t pleasant; it was. It just very much was not the humming of a bird. Which most likely meant that merely 10 feet before me was the first human I would meet as a free man.

Child.

Boy.

Man sounds best.

I panicked for a moment. What if all humans were bad? Well, maybe not bad but at least selfish. What if I am seen as a threat and killed on sight? Or hell, what if I’m seen as valuable and taken captive yet again? If I escaped one hell to land just to land in another I don’t know if my fragile psyche could endure. Perhaps it would be best if the person didn’t know I was here? I could just watch them for a minute and try to determine their personality. If they seem trustworthy I will reveal myself and if not then I will sneak away.

With my mind made up, I snuck closer and closer to where the sound originated from. I was doing my best to stay low and make as little noise as possible. Many of the books I read taught a clear lesson about not stopping on dry twigs while moving stealthily in the woods. Apparently, those were the equivalent of auditory landmines out here. It seemed that those destined to be caught always stepped on twigs before the enemy spun around with a swooshing sound. As it is, I am not inclined to be swooshed.

Peeking my head through a brush I got my first glimpse of the target in question. It was not a sizzler which only disappointed me briefly. It was, however, a human. Most importantly, it was a human dressed very differently from my old jailors.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The human in question was female. Wow, why am I an idiot? Who says things like that? Let’s start again.

The person who made the sound was a woman and from my limited perspective, she was quite beautiful. She had long dark curls of hair that cascaded down her back and ended just shy of her hips. Her muscular tan shoulders heavily suggested a physical lifestyle and perhaps a unique skill. For clothing, she wore a pair of worn out blue jeans and a black t-shirt with some old metal band rocking out on it. Finally, across her back was a metal crossbow matched by a long hunting knife on her hip. I was both intimidated and turned on.

As if she heard my thoughts she suddenly whipped around, drawing her crossbow and aiming at me in one smooth motion

Wait.

Did I just get swooshed?

“Get out,” she said in a steely voice.

Without much of a choice, I followed her orders.

The reaction on her face was something I would remember for a long time. Partly in shame but mostly in fond amusement. She was, for lack of a better description, both extremely confused and extremely uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked with her eyebrows scrunched together in disgust.

In my heart of hearts, I wanted to respond to the question with Spartacus. How perfect that would be! I look at her eyes and weigh my chances. Nope, no compassion there. Them there are shoot you in the liver eyes.

“I…”

But what if she gets the reference? Maybe she won’t shoot me then? Ah but how much would a bolt hurt? Probably a lot. Plus I would die, which should be more important to me than it currently is. A route of questioning I can examine later, for now, I need to think of a name. A name like Spartacus.

Nope, not that.

A crossbow bolt is literally a sharpened stick designed to fly through the air and penetrate flesh. I am the flesh! Besides, people shit themselves when they die and I’m in my underwear. That’s a bad legacy.

“I am…”

Her eyebrows were scrunching tighter and her finger squeezed ever so slightly more on the trigger.

“I am… Cato!” I declared at last.

A perfect name and perfect delivery. What a glorious start to my life of freedom.

“What the fuck kind of name is Cato?” she asked.

I should have said, Spartacus.

“My father was Italian,” I responded after adjusting to my shock, “He loved the classics.”

She gave a half-hearted shrug and a shake of her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I care even less. What I do care about is why a boy was following me around in the woods where nothing but a pair of tighty whities? Not to mention peeping at me through a brush.

“A pair of what?” I asked.

“Your underwear, you little creep.”

Oh. They are quite tight.

“I don’t actually have any other clothes,” I said.

She stared with no change in expression.

“And I heard you humming so I became curious” I continued.

She raised one eyebrow encouraging me to continue.

“I am just very, very lost, and honestly quite cold. I also think it would be really unfortunate to die in my underwear so I would like it a lot if you don’t shoot me” I spoke carefully with my hands up. “Also I’m probably not a creep.”

Her amber eyes showed surprise before a faint smile teased itself from her lips. Finally, she lowered the crossbow. “I guess so,” she said staring intently at me before lowering her gaze to my… oh.

Awkwardly placing my two hands in front of my crotch, I did my best to look her in the eyes. “You don’t happen to have any clothes I could borrow, do you?”

She gave a light laugh. “Yeah, I might have something your size,” she responded. “The name’s Angela by the way.”

This time I failed to hold back my rambling brain before it spit out a response, “and what kind of angel goes around with a loaded crossbow?”

She gave me a very serious look and I worried that I may have crossed some sort of line.

“The Italian kind.”

We both broke out in laughter.