It had been the end of summer when Bree finally broke. She had almost made it eighteen years.
She’d had a vague sort of plan that once she was eighteen, she could leave and go do... something. Somewhere. She had only the vaguest, most nebulous plans. Maybe she could go to college? Somewhere far, far away from Maine. But that summer after she’d “graduated,” it became clear that her great-grandparents had absolutely no intention of her leaving. When her desire to leave grew more and more evident, their desire to keep her safe grew more and more...
Well...
She’d seen enough movies to know where it was headed.
She made a break for it.
No money. No plan. She’d just run towards the setting sun, as far into the woods to the west of their farm as she could before nightfall swept her form away. Then she was forced to stay still, find shelter, lest she be eaten by a bear at worst, or face the next day nude at best. It had been the longest, scariest night of her life.
That had been... She didn’t know. Weeks? Months? Every day, she went west. She’d gotten lost in the woods for weeks, the first time, before finding her way out to civilization. At which point she’d seen her face on a missing person’s poster. The cops were looking for her. She didn’t have any money, anyway. She didn’t know how to interact with people, how to talk to them in a way that seemed normal.
Civilization held nothing for her.
She stuck to the forests, traveling ever west. She scavenged what she could and stole more. She’d probably fucked a lot of campers over to a pretty extreme degree. But no more than a passing bear would, she told herself. They should have been ready.
She had a system now, and the nights were always long and dark but she’d grown numb to the fear. She’d grown numb to most things, really. Her body, once the peak of physical perfection, muscular and powerful, had withered. She still had strength under her skin, but her skin, once healthy and glowing, had grown sallow with malnutrition, and her face, once full and soft, had grown haggard. Her hair was a nightmare that didn’t really bear thinking about.
Clothing was always an issue. Currently, she was clad in a pair of jeans that... barely still qualified, one leg torn off entirely and the other in tatters. Over it was a dress, or a tunic maybe... it was hard to tell what it had once been. Now it was a dirty grey-brown and in worn tatters. Over it she wore someone else’s flannel, oversized and filthy. She covered her ears, and kept the worst of sticks and dirt from her hair, with what had once been the red hoodie she’d escaped in, which was now little more than a misshapen bolt of cloth that she wore like a headscarf.
She had no idea where she was. She hadn’t come across hikers in weeks. She was out of food. Out of water. Out of everything. Her backpack was barren of anything she could use, just scraps of cloth and empty bottles.
It was a miracle she came across the little hut in the woods. She’d assumed it was abandoned, at first, until she realized that there were herbs growing around it, herbs that someone presumably planted. Maybe a long time ago? It didn’t matter. She recognized them. And a well, bless every god there might be, a well.
She had been in the middle of practically bathing in well water when she’d heard the footsteps. It was all she needed to scamper into the woods; she always ran from sounds of life.
But she stayed close, and came back that night to feast on herbs that tasted bitter but filled her aching stomach. She always ate as a dog. Less filled her up, and it carried over, sort of. She’d long since stopped questioning it, instead abusing the loophole of magic to make small rations stretch impossibly far.
It was daytime now, and she’d yanked her clothes, or what passed for them, back on, and climbed a tree along a path she could only assume was there for use by whoever lived in the mysterious cottage. She was waiting for whoever it was to leave again, so she could slake her desperate thirst with the well, fill all her bottles, and perhaps even break a window and steal anything edible she could find.
Once upon a time, she might have cringed at the thought of stealing from an innocent stranger, but she was far past that now. Survival was on her mind, and escape. She didn’t know when she could stop running, but she knew that if she kept going west, she’d eventually hit another ocean and be as far away from that fucking cage of a farm as it was possible to be.
She’d had a vague sort of plan that once she was eighteen, she could leave and go do... something. Somewhere. She had only the vaguest, most nebulous plans. Maybe she could go to college? Somewhere far, far away from Maine. But that summer after she’d “graduated,” it became clear that her great-grandparents had absolutely no intention of her leaving. When her desire to leave grew more and more evident, their desire to keep her safe grew more and more...
Well...
She’d seen enough movies to know where it was headed.
She made a break for it.
No money. No plan. She’d just run towards the setting sun, as far into the woods to the west of their farm as she could before nightfall swept her form away. Then she was forced to stay still, find shelter, lest she be eaten by a bear at worst, or face the next day nude at best. It had been the longest, scariest night of her life.
That had been... She didn’t know. Weeks? Months? Every day, she went west. She’d gotten lost in the woods for weeks, the first time, before finding her way out to civilization. At which point she’d seen her face on a missing person’s poster. The cops were looking for her. She didn’t have any money, anyway. She didn’t know how to interact with people, how to talk to them in a way that seemed normal.
Civilization held nothing for her.
She stuck to the forests, traveling ever west. She scavenged what she could and stole more. She’d probably fucked a lot of campers over to a pretty extreme degree. But no more than a passing bear would, she told herself. They should have been ready.
She had a system now, and the nights were always long and dark but she’d grown numb to the fear. She’d grown numb to most things, really. Her body, once the peak of physical perfection, muscular and powerful, had withered. She still had strength under her skin, but her skin, once healthy and glowing, had grown sallow with malnutrition, and her face, once full and soft, had grown haggard. Her hair was a nightmare that didn’t really bear thinking about.
Clothing was always an issue. Currently, she was clad in a pair of jeans that... barely still qualified, one leg torn off entirely and the other in tatters. Over it was a dress, or a tunic maybe... it was hard to tell what it had once been. Now it was a dirty grey-brown and in worn tatters. Over it she wore someone else’s flannel, oversized and filthy. She covered her ears, and kept the worst of sticks and dirt from her hair, with what had once been the red hoodie she’d escaped in, which was now little more than a misshapen bolt of cloth that she wore like a headscarf.
She had no idea where she was. She hadn’t come across hikers in weeks. She was out of food. Out of water. Out of everything. Her backpack was barren of anything she could use, just scraps of cloth and empty bottles.
It was a miracle she came across the little hut in the woods. She’d assumed it was abandoned, at first, until she realized that there were herbs growing around it, herbs that someone presumably planted. Maybe a long time ago? It didn’t matter. She recognized them. And a well, bless every god there might be, a well.
She had been in the middle of practically bathing in well water when she’d heard the footsteps. It was all she needed to scamper into the woods; she always ran from sounds of life.
But she stayed close, and came back that night to feast on herbs that tasted bitter but filled her aching stomach. She always ate as a dog. Less filled her up, and it carried over, sort of. She’d long since stopped questioning it, instead abusing the loophole of magic to make small rations stretch impossibly far.
It was daytime now, and she’d yanked her clothes, or what passed for them, back on, and climbed a tree along a path she could only assume was there for use by whoever lived in the mysterious cottage. She was waiting for whoever it was to leave again, so she could slake her desperate thirst with the well, fill all her bottles, and perhaps even break a window and steal anything edible she could find.
Once upon a time, she might have cringed at the thought of stealing from an innocent stranger, but she was far past that now. Survival was on her mind, and escape. She didn’t know when she could stop running, but she knew that if she kept going west, she’d eventually hit another ocean and be as far away from that fucking cage of a farm as it was possible to be.
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A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 06-28-2017, 10:17 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by ambientmagic - 06-28-2017, 10:49 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 06-28-2017, 11:10 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by ambientmagic - 06-30-2017, 11:20 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 06-30-2017, 11:57 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by ambientmagic - 07-02-2017, 09:01 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 07-02-2017, 10:30 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by ambientmagic - 07-07-2017, 12:04 PM
RE: A Fugue of the Continuous [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 07-07-2017, 03:16 PM