A copious mist hung amidst the trees; endless and impenetrable with the thickness of the primordial fog that blurred the vision of any mortal. A blanket for the evil, and safe haven for the guilty that ran through FallMire. A boy no older than 19 years old, strode through the Forest on hasty legs. His sturdy build and good looks buried beneath a dirty, blue and red Baseball Cap, that hid most of his tousled, dirty-blonde hair. He wore nothing but a blue hoodie with a loose fitting t-shirt beneath, that hung over the waist of his baggy Jeans that were slightly worn; falling over his once white, running sneakers. The howl of a Wolf ripped through the air, and he paled. Feeling as the swift, cold twinge of fear, hasten the speed of his legs. …show more content…
Where the ghostly whistles of the wind, sang through the trees, casting shadows on the dimly lit Forest floor. The only source of light being the moon above, which glistened atop the leaves that still clung to the branches of Cedar and Pinewood. His blonde hair whipped against his face, causing him to grunt in annoyance at the length. His skin pricked by thorns he encountered mere minutes ago, making blots of fresh blood, seep from the tiny wounds on his left arm. The cold of the night glanced his skin, causing pimples to rise on his flustered flesh, making him shiver despite the heat he felt in his lower abdomen. A twig popped behind him, and his head flew around. Only to be greeted by more darkness and the thick mist that had formed out of nowhere. His breathing hastened, and he clutched his …show more content…
"I-, I'm sorry. I was being chased by something in the Woods-," he started but was quickly interrupted by the Stranger. "Don't your Parents warn you about going in the Forest at night?" The stranger asked harshly, turning his flashlight off. He could see that the Man had a Gun, holstered on the side of his Jeans beneath the Leather Jacket he wore. And his eyes traveled up to his face; a rather handsome and rugged face. A long, distinct scar trailed from the stranger's forehead, down beneath his left eye, which was casted over by white, apparently blinded by whatever inflicted the scar. "It bit me," he huffed heavily as he rose to his feet, and the stranger gazed at his hand, but there was nothing there for him to see. Not a scar nor bruise, which made the younger man gaze at his own hand confusedly. Convinced that he had gone crazy, even more so from the odd look he received from the Stranger. "What?" The stranger asked raising an eyebrow at him in speculation. "I-, I don't. I don't understand-," he tried speaking but his lapsed breathing stopped him from speaking
Located in the popular Yosemite National Park, Yosemite Falls is the tallest waterfall in California. Every year, mother nature’s breathtaking beauty attracts millions of people from around the world. People hike for three long and fatiguing hours in anticipation of witnessing forceful water rushing down the steep mountain from 2,425 feet above. Last summer, my family and I backpacked through the Yosemite Falls Trail and I came to learn what a truly exhausting experience it is.
He strolled by a police patrolled park about six blocks from his apartment. The park, as it was on most nights, was completely empty. He turned down a short side street in order to loop back to his apartment when he first noticed him. At the far end of the street, on his side, was a silhouette of a man. He was a very slender man with long arms and legs. He had what looked like a very slim fitting, tailored, pinstripe suit. It was hard for him to make out the face. He didn’t think anything of it and thought it was just muddled lush.
I awoke before the first rays of sunlight had passed through the dew-covered trees to the west today. It had rained the evening before, and the smell of wet leaves and grass was still lingering in the air.
He went on down the hill, toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing - the rapid and urgent beating of the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look
It's freaky. " writes Swordmaster89. Abigail inspects her body and notices a strange mark on her left elbow. She touches it and shockingly she is in another
The mob's direction has changed, now facing me with black, gothic raven- like eyes marching passionately. The hair on my arms rose creating tiny irregular goosebumps. Fear crept in with its bony devilish nails caressing my shoulders ready to consume me. A strong jerk at my nape pulled me backwards out of the range of the mob and fear. My father slammed the window, bolting the lock, his veins pulsing and a Kirpan clasped in his right hand.
“I just wanted to go home and cry,” Andre said. “They were just so blunt about it!”In addition to the atrocious mark on his face, Andre is OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). When he felt the textures that were different in his face, he peeled the skin on that awful scab to match the rest of his skin. This made the situation a thousand times worse.
Several minutes ago, a rather shabby bearded man came running into my living room. I do not know how he found access to the house or even what caused him to come running into my living room in the first place. He seemed frantic wearing a bathrobe, holding in one hand a towel, in the other, a book that had in large cheerful font the words: Don’t Panic. He claimed to be Arthur Dent a man from England trying to warn Earth about the coming Vogon attack.
The air in the Great Forest was bright and crisp, like any other morning. Sun shone through the oak tree branches in streaks of yellow and gold, as little critters danced through the shadows. The music of the morning doves and thumps of hurring paws surrounded the Great Forest like a blanket. The creatures of the forest relied on that calmness, that symbol of tranquility. The Great Forest was never quiet, never dull.
Whatever part of his face was visible was smeared with faint black grease stripes and grime. There were scratches and gashes on his neck and hands, which weren't very old, but the blood from them had trickled a very short distance and had dried up midway. His head hung low with exhaustion and his breathing was heavy.
"Not again," he moaned. Even though a cold draft swirled around the room that he shared with his infant sister, he was in a sweat. He waited for his heart to stop racing, and threw the threadbare quilt that served as his bead spread off of his legs. Standing up, he combed his fingers through his dark hair, doing the best he could to tame the messy tangle that had evolved from his fitful tossing and turning.
. . more bruises. As I ran, raven hair whipping pale cheeks and fire burning through branch-scratched legs, my cheeks began to dry, but my eyes were swollen.
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.
“There’s this,” he paused as he breathed deeply, forcing his eyes shut. “There’s this guy-”