literature

Excerpt 2

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    Fear struck the boy. Like some rat let out in a dark cave, he felt the pattering feet pervade his consciousness. At first, they seemed entirely harmless, in a childish manner. Of course he had not discarded their malevolent possibilities, and in a sense they still looked evil. But what he did not like was his own sudden immobility. The girl had gotten up after slipping her weapon into a small leather hold. The larger boy headed up to the stage, conceivably intent on destroying something. He could not begin to know what was behind him. Now that they, the ones with the solid understanding, were loose, he had some competition, perhaps. They were automatically better than him. The boy now found it hard to tuck away his earlier idea, and his legs ached for motion. 

    In an expected contrast of reality, where before the boy had absolutely nothing to think about, now, thinking appeared to be his only option. It was a frail fear, one the boy acknowledged could be destroyed in his frantic search for sanity, but nothing could be done. Now that his legs were in pain, fleeing would mean sacrificing himself to ineffective discomfort. And now that he couldn't even keep track of his own head, thinking hardly got him anywhere. It was almost as if he was running, but in truth he sat still. And it was almost as if he was really thinking, but on quite the contrary, as he also began to accept without hesitation, there was no mental substance in all his body. Slowly the thin wire connecting him together was beginning to contort with tension. Quickly the field began to rush away from him, under his small feet, but slowly the hills and the trees swayed in his perception. The world was mocking him, exploiting his weakness. He was overreacting. 

    At least forty minutes had passed, and all but a few precious items were left unmarked by the bulky one on the stage, something completely outside of expectation, possibly. The girl was far off toward the wood, crouching near some bright-colored thing shooting from the earth. But the third child, the one he hadn't actually seen as of yet, remained hidden. The boy subtly rocked his chair again, attempting with repeated failure to puncture the solid soil. His breath was indecisive, his eyes locked in one narrow gaze. The torment of thought had curled away from him like the tentacles of a great sea monster, but the presence of uncertainty still thinned his internal wiring, slowly and deliberately. There was a loud sound that had come from the large boy, having accidentally knocked something over in his search. The girl sat frozen in her crouched position, only now with her hands moving haphazardly around the base of the plant. The boy realized some great truth; they were not interesting. A small wind breezed by, and almost hidden within it was heard a rustle of chilled grass under a new pressure. The boy attained another great understanding; the scene was empty, even odd. There was nothing particularly abnormal about holding a concert in the middle of a frosted, forsaken field, but nothing was quite right. Another crushing sound from the grass skirmished to his ears. The boy almost wished there was something big, something to grab his attention beyond the stage. He retained his battle against the uncertainties of the situation, out of a change of heart, and decided he would look for the good in the situation. A final cringe of grass, then silence. 

    Perhaps they could be here to help him. He certainly stood in need of some help outside his newfound anxiety. Or maybe they are just homeless children, similar to himself, trying to make fun out of a likely dull afternoon. They might be secret agents. He scanned over his multiplicity of scenarios, and he was stuck in a divot of childish imagination, a hole of exciting possibilities. The dismal air caught him from entering into a deep sleep, so in a sense he was able to keep his senses. He remembered the words of his older sister, or precisely, he remembered the general concepts of life his sister had forced into his digestion. There had been much effort to forget his family ties, they all having done some terrible act and sent off to prison for life, but he could not forget their sordid charm. In short, his family had taught him well how to be sensible, indeed, through their own senselessness. His sister stood in his conscious mind as a symbol of soberness, an example of how not to be. There was impenetrable silence, one he would normally find complementary in the midst of a crisp autumn afternoon, but this one was not so welcome. He had not forgotten the children, but he knew not whether they had forgotten him. In perspective of his recent panic, he remembered he had had times like this. Now was the perfect opportunity to utilize some sense. He made careful movements to get up, legs still aching. 

    Out of the muddled blue, and utterly taking the boy by surprise, he had discovered the last child, the one he had before been unable to detect. He found, barely upon starting to rise from his seat, that he was up and directly in front of this child. It was instantly an unpleasant encounter, for the child was low in sneak, hostile in eye, and quick to launch at him, which he no doubt did. Only by luck was the boy able to dodge his seizure and secede improbably from him. A presumably safe distance was reached from the inert scramble of his feet, and the boy stopped in his tracks, looking straight ahead. He had discovered quickly that the child was not already on his tail, but rather lying painfully atop his chair, not moving at all. He waited for the child to get up, visibly having remained there from his pounce with no sign of consciousness. The boy did not like him, even more so than what was his own unawareness only a few moments before. Regaining some more sense, the boy properly strode away in the other direction, paying little attention to agility and having no concern for understanding what had just happened. He need only reach the other end of the forest, or some other thing he could hide behind, before the other children would surely turn their heads to see. 

    But he failed. 

    The child raised his head and screamed. The boy, still running, felt his blood freeze and his muscles cringe. He didn't know of the others, but this child could scream in a way no other human could. His body's inertia began to outweigh his strong desire to flee, his adrenaline sparing every second it could for the withdrawal from his system. He was on his own, with nothing to help him from the ridiculous doom he could not have foreseenThe air began to close in around him, and it felt as if he could not understand anything but movement. It was a cumbered pace he kept, but he kept it until he reached a thin tree. It was good, something he could at least use as a physical diversion, but he passed it and made his way to a larger one. Foolishly he turned his head round to learn anything he could from the children's behavior. They were gone. 

    He made it to the tree, and eventually to another, more accessible one. Daring another peek, he was reassured that the children indeed had vanished. He almost cried. Nothing he'd faced before was as otherworldly and outright stupid as this. He gripped the skeleton of the tree, hoping to calm himself. It was precisely situations like this that always resulted with him on the bottom.

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