Attack. Attack.

(Oliver’s POV)

 

Oliver could feel his ratty converse sinking into the forest’s moss-covered floor. His breathing was laboured now, from the 15 minutes he had been sprinting. What has started as the late night stroll through the woods had turned out to be some much more.

 

"What do you want?" Oliver screamed.

 

The blood-curdling screech from his pursuer hit him like a terribly powerful wave, almost knocking him off his feet. His ankle twisted under a protruding root which sent him face first into the dirt. He kicked his feet around. They were stuck. He could barely breathe, from both the running and the impact of the fall. Movement was painful and hard. He was trapped.

 

He could feel it hovering over him. Inhaling deeply, enjoying his smell. “Well, well, well...” Its voice sent shivers up his spine. It seemed to have three voices, overlapping in crude, off pitch harmony. A high pitch voice, that was similar to nails on a chalkboard. A rough, scratchy voice, as if he was talking with a cold. And finally, a low, growling voice, which makes him sound like the ultimate predator. Which is exactly what he is.

 

“Don’t worry little boy… it’ll all be over before you know it…” Oliver could feel tears streaking down his dirt covered face. It was close. He could feel it breathing on his neck. It let off another screech before it bit. The teeth felt like fire and ice in his flesh, burning and stinging. Oliver let out a pained moan. “Please… please don’t kill me,” his voice sounded different. It sounded as if it was splitting. What was this thing doing to him?

 

Things seemed to happen all at once. The teeth were ripped from his neck, and the wound seemed to heal over immediately. The monster that attacked him seemed to let off a low hiss. “Don’t touch me, kitty. Or el-” His words were cut short. Something had attacked him. Oliver turned his head slowly to the side. The movement sent a dizzy wave over him. He let another groan leave his lips and opened his eyes.

 

It was dark out, at least one in the morning, so his vision was shadowed and somewhat grainy. He squinted at the silhouettes before him. They moved and squirmed, and from what he could tell, blood was flying. “Rrrroorwrr!” A cat? Oliver’s life had been (hopefully) spared, by a wild cat.

 

“Thanks kitty-kitty…”

 

The last thing Oliver saw before consciousness left was the swipe of the cat’s paw and an explosion of blood.

Author's Note

eh.. not so great.