He woke slowly, coming back to a reality he would of soon forgotten. He sat up and reached above his head groaning deeply while he stretched. There was several leaf and dirt clusters sticking to his black tattered "Doors" shirt. It was a brand new shirt when he had put it on. He could still remember finding it folded neatly on his bed. He had picked it up, pulled the tag out and tossed it carelessly on the his floor. He blinked the tears from his eyes as he patted the dirt and pulled the leaf off. He knew his mother could not save him here. Not this time. If he saw her again he would never callously discard such an act of love and kindness. He would change...He would be a worthy son. He wiped the tears from his eyes and felt a surge of determination. He would get through this. If being strong was all he had to get him through this. Peaking up at the sun he began walking in its direction. In this moment, Chris was absolutley sure he would find his way out of this forest.
Chris began to walk some sort of path. He called it a path because there were no pine trees in his way. The foilage was still at least up to his waist and sometimes almost at eye level. But he beat his way throught the briars and ..."Damn it" he muttered as he pushed through a patch of poison ivy. Stopping for a moment to collect himself he dared a 360 degree look. What he saw still startled him despite the fact he had stared down the same view for over 12 hours now. The only difference was the sun was out now. Or so he assumed, the tree prevented any real view of the sun. It was almost as if he had a flourescent light (a small light) in a dark room. Damn it all if that was not better than nothing. "Damn it all to hell anyway." He continued to attack the bushes and limbs wiping blood from small cuts on his arms and scratching demonic itches all over his body. He had grown increasingly more filthy as he walked. Sleeping on the hard Alabama dirt last night had not helped. But now he had to endure teh putred Alabama humidity aswell. At home he ran from his Mother at the mention of a bath. Oh how he would love a bath now. He closed his eyes to hold back the tears that the thought of his beautiful Mother brought on...God what if he never saw her again. "No," he could not think like that. He opened his eyes and saw a piece of paper nailed to a tree with a screwdriver. The bright red handle drew his attention before the words on the paper did. The handle was dripping .He reached to touch the handle only to quickly jerk his hand back as if he had touched a flame. The handle was covered in blood and he (fought?) to cry loudly and without restraint.
The words seemed to bled on the paper, echoing the violent impression the handled (marked ?). The message was no different and the meaning was not lost on Chris's young mind. "We see you...You will know us soon." The message left him rigid, he was afraid to move. At this moment he knew there were eyes on him. There were others out there who were enjying his plight. It was no longer a scary situation, it was hopeless. The tears stopped leaking from his eyes. When he findly was able to move again he turned in every direction. He saw the (smothering) fat brown bark that stuck to every tree like scales. He could not (pierce) the shiled of forest that surrounded him. His imagination was running faster than he could keep up. Were they wathcn him right now? They... so ominous, so despairing. They were fear, his fear. And what could he do? Could he protect himself? Not physically, no. You can not fight what you can not see. Chris had never been in a fight. He usually did not allow something to progress that far. No, words were sharper than a knife. His Father had taught him that. Not directly, not on purpose. But he listened to everything. Especially when they thought him oblivious or better asleep. He begin to collect himself drawing deep breathes,. They were fear... He wanted nothing to do with them. So be it...He reached up and grapped the bloody screwdriver and begin to walk towards the direction of the sun.
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