Story by Lillian Trumble
I pushed through the tough branches. It felt like the more I tried to escape them, the harder they pushed back. The only sounds were the sounds of my ragged breathing, the rustling of the branches, and the screaming of my heart and lungs. Their footsteps once closing in on me, were gone all together. I tried to be quiet, I really did.
I shoved through the tough branches. They scratched my skin in deep searing cuts. Blood trickled down my arms and legs, the heat of the blood being the only warmth I knew. The sprig scratched me and tugged at me, like a wild animal. I wanted to scream and cry and lie in a ball and never feel this pain again. I tried to be quiet, I really did.
I forced through the tough branches. The sound of the footsteps re-approached. They crunched quickly on the leaves. The sound of their breath joined mine. Fifty feet away, then forty. I accepted my fate while I had the time. Time, a funny conception, you think you have it all until it's gone. I had been too loud. I was supposed to be quiet. I tried to be quiet…. I really really did.
I drove through the tough branches. My movements weaker, my running slower. Thirty feet. I could hear my heart screeching faster and faster. My vision blurred, my hands burned. The blood had soaked what was left of my socks. Twenty feet. I could hear him now, he whispers sweet things of peace and sunlight. Ten feet. My vision turns red, my ears ring. I gasp for air, but nothing comes. Five feet. I tried to be quiet. Two feet. I really really did, I swear.
Fleeting, momentary, ephemeral. Definition: lasting for a short time. Synonym? Life. Every breath you take, every tear you draw or create, every memory. It's not forever. It’s only yours until it's over. Then it's the peoples. It's theirs to remember, to remember your memories, to carry your griefs. We need those people to continue our life, even after it ends. Without those people - parents, siblings, friends, lovers - we aren’t anybody but a body in itself.






