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Lake Reflection.HEIC

Writings & Other Musings

  • Writer's pictureWesley Bowers

The Figure

The smell of the cool, damp earth fills your nostrils. You’re lying on the ground outside and can’t remember why. Songbirds sing overhead to bring in the new day. As you start to lift yourself, you notice your hands stained with blood. You begin to panic and wonder what may have happened the night prior.

Your clothes are ripped and dirty from your waking on the ripe dirt. You stand upright and look around at your surroundings. You’re in a glade of trees. Oaks, you think. There are some crimson stains on the tree bark to the left of you and broken branches. You sway as you try to gather your balance. Whatever happened last night, leaving you feeling groggy, woozy.

You take a step forward, then another. You finally make your way to the tree with the stain marks. You look about for any other clues. Footprints are leading to where you dropped. You begin to follow them and see where they lead you. Suddenly you hear a snap and see a figure begin to run from your right side. They must have been watching you. You clumsily run after them. Their hoodie is grey and nondescript. Their maroon pants are splattered with mud as they run. You can’t tell what gender they are, only that they look about five foot ten.

Your footing slips and you tumble to the ground. You stand to your feet and continue toward the noise of the figure’s feet. It seems like half an hour or more that you have been chasing this figure, and only inching nearer. The sound of running water begins to fill the air. There must be a creek nearby. Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash! The figure is making its way across.

The Figure

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