by Kaitlyn Hoyt
HE’S GOING TO KILL ME. I just know it. I don’t have the information he needs, and now he is going to kill me for it.
I discreetly look around for a way out of this situation. We’re moving through a dense forest. I’m surrounded by trees… nothing but trees. I hear the sound of water flowing in the distance. Dravin isn’t the one carrying me, but I know he is close.
I pretend to be limp. They didn’t bother tying me because they thought I passed out from the pain of their torturing. I know they are going to get rid of me; I am no longer any use to them. They are probably going to throw me into the stream and watch me sink, laughing manically as I go deeper and deeper into the water. Okay, they probably aren’t going to be laughing, but the evil guys always did that in the movies.
They kept asking me, “Where’s the girl? The girl from the prophecy? I know you know her.” I have no idea who this girl is, but they didn’t believe me. Dravin would beat me until I was knocked unconscious. After attempting four times, over two days, to get information out of me, they finally got it through their thick skulls that I had no idea what they were talking about. I knew of the prophecy, but that was the extent of it.
The man carrying me isn’t being gentle. Why would he be? He’s about to kill me. My body keeps banging against his chest every time he steps on uneven ground. He is squeezing my arms and legs too tight, cutting off the circulation. The sound of the water gets louder, telling me we are close. If I am going to do anything, it has to be soon.
Stopping, the man says, “Where’s Dravin? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“I don’t know. Let’s wait and see he if comes soon. If not, we’ll dispose of her ourselves.”
It is now or never. I reach up and punch the man in the nose. Shocked, he drops me to the ground. I jump up and kick him between the legs before running off in the opposite direction. I can hear the man groaning in pain behind me.
“Don’t just stand there! Go after her!” he yells.
I hear heavy footsteps following me, twigs breaking beneath his feet. He is gaining on me. I am too weak to continue at this pace for too long. I divert from a path and persist, dodging trees and low-lying branches in the process. I keep up this pace for a while, ignoring the throbbing in my arms and legs from the vigorous movement. Thinking that I lost him, I slow down. I take this time to catch my breath. I’m still hurting from their attacks.
A few minutes later, I hear his heavy footsteps again. Somebody help me. Oh gosh, he’s going to find me. I frantically search for somewhere to hide, but there is nothing. I’m out in the open, without energy to defend myself, and nowhere to hide.
He breaks through the tree line, and smiles at me. I watch as he brings his right arm out, and points a gun at me. A gun? Gadramicks usually only use swords. I don’t have time to think. The sound of a gun firing echoes throughout the forest as pain shoots across my abdomen. I fly backwards before landing on my back in the middle of the trail. I try to keep my eyes open, but it’s too difficult. Everything in my body starts to slow down: my breathing, my heart rate, and I start losing feeling in my limbs. Time even seems to slow. I feel someone grab onto me, and try to drag me back. Someone else runs past me toward the man with the gun, and knocks it out of his hands. He kicks the man in the head, knocking him unconscious. Before the man even falls to the ground, he turns around and comes toward me, helping the other person pick me up and carry me away.
