Escape Through The Tree's

Escape Through The Tree's

A Story by Millie
"

When all that you love is gone and all that you never got love is trapped will there ever be an escape? Escape through the trees!

"

As the wind makes contact with my skin it feels as though it pinches my skin thousands of times over. The smell of roses lingers along with the soft smell of his cologne. The mud squeals as I trudge on through.They arch round surronding me, trapping me The tree's stand tall watching me, stalking me, Judging me. I shudder sensing  the touch of nothingness. As the tree's run with the wind they scratch and pull. A tear drops down maping the ways it climbs down my face. My pace begins to fasten, running through never looking back.  Holding hands with thin air touching where your hands use to hold. The ground a mould green covered in moss and the darkest shade of brown mud.

 

"Haha" A childs laugh. Another tears run's it course mapping it's route around my face. The fast pace turns to a run. A damn log ruins my escape. Hitting the floor. More tears stream clouding my sight. The fuzzy light so close I ccould touch, I was so close so close to my escape! RUN! It seemed to far away seemingly getting further the more distance I ran for. "AHHHHH" A child's scream.

 

The sheer velocity od the scream was enough to shake anyone. The tree's began to shake and quiver. It lasted only a few minutes It began to settle as time went on. I stayed rapped in a ball. The winds changed  it became icy cold. "I see you mummy" The childs voice called. I attempted to get into a smaller ball. So small that the childs voice couldn't be heard. "Where's Daddy? Mummy Where's Daddy?" The childs voice lingered in my mind. I could feel his hand on my shoulder. The warmth, that disappering warmth. As his sweet touch fades into darkness as lonelyness come alive. Shaping it's self into person. A person who loved to play games to hate, to trap me in this never ending forest.

 

The child's voice had faded, had I confused her? Did she realise I was still here? I steadyed my breathing in an attempt to calm my self down. That voice that fearful voice why is she still here why is she still after me! I lifted my head out of the ball to see a small feet and shoes. The little girl was wearing white tights and pink dolly shoes. I looked up further to see a candy pink dress. I couldn't, I just couldn't look any further.

 

The child bent down to see my face. Her eye's were like no childs eyes they were black. The darkest shade. Her face was so pale, she didn't seem as though she was alive. It was frightful how could I this be? She had long dark hair, with a straight cut fringe. Heavenly long eye lashes. But you were always drawn to the pitch black eyes. You could see the evil in them, the longing, the depaire. It wasn't right she shouldn't be here, she shouldn't be alive.

 

"Mummy, Where's my Daddy?" she asked grabbing hold of my hand.

"I'm not you Mummy!" I pulled my hand you of her grasp.

"Yes you are!" She screamed. "Now where's my Daddy!"

"You" I stuttered "You" My breathing flew out of control. The smell of his cologne came rushing back. "You, killed him baby" I told her in the nicest possible way I could.

"It's Mummy's turn soon" My head shot up.  Tear rolled down my eye. I sprung up then ran. Which way was I running. The tree's had caved us in. The end was no where in sight.

 

It was night now. Through the leaves of the tree's I could see the stars clearly against the deep blue of the sky. I was trapped and the only thing I could was RUN!

© 2011 Millie


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So many spelling mistakes in this and I haven't bothered to go over it and get ride of the little errors I will need to soon!

Posted 11 Years Ago



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Added on April 15, 2011
Last Updated on April 24, 2011
Tags: Escape, love, lost, Fanstasy, Teen, Horror
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Author

Millie
Millie

Portsmouth, Copner, United Kingdom



About
I'm 16 (almost). I write to express conflicting emotions. This enable to let me release them without feeling like there mine by putting them in different scenarios. I enjoy writing, but music is m.. more..

Writing
f**k knows yet f**k knows yet

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