Fugitive

The beginning

I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay in one spot for long. Justifying my theory, voices came through the trees. They were screaming my name. Well, it was only one voice; my mother’s. Packing my Esso Map back into the duffle bag, I began running again. I could hear my mother’s voice getting closer and closer to me as I whipped my arms this way and that way, pushing branches out of my way. But my escape came to an end when I stood at the edge of a steep cliff. Failing to realize that my arm was no longer holding a large tree branch back, I was smacked in the back by said branch. Pain shot through my shoulder blades and back from the impact and I tumbled down the cliff head first. As I hit the bottom, smacking my head on a large rock and slowly drifting off into unconsciousness, there was no doubt in my mind that my leg was broken now.

I woke up several hours later, I can only assume by the moonlight, with a splitting headache that could take down a grown man. I reached up to my temple as an attempt to ease my throbbing and felt dried blood that had trickled down from my scalp. Looking around my surroundings I knew by the well furnished hut like house that I was no longer at the foot of the cliff. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating nearly everything inside. I looked down at my leg to find it bandaged and wrapped in a sort of makeshift cast. At least whoever brought me here was nice…I assumed. I decided to attempt to find the resident of the place and ventured outside to the sound of a slow, rushing river. Moonlight shone down on the beauty of what could only be the outskirts of the other side of the forest. That was, if I was still in Forks, Washington. Lit by the moon’s light was a boy who appeared to be about my age sitting at the edge of the river, dunking his feet in. As I walked towards him, I stepped on a dead leaf which caught his attention. He turned around to reveal a handsomely pale face with dark brown almost black hair that fell into even darker eyes. Smiling at me he said, “Oh, you’re awake!” I attempted to appear unafraid as he stood up to expose that he was about six foot. Swallowing my fear, I tried to make my voice even, “You live here?” I asked. He nodded in response, “My name’s Cole.” I bit down on my lower lip, unsure if I should tell him my real name. “Sky,” I answered with a shortened version. That was all he would be getting from me.

Author's Note

Ignore all errors.