Week 8: Assigned Post

I have been running for so long through the forest, that my heart is still pounding, and I am trying very hard to slow my breathing. Finally, I was able to stop, and sit beneath the leaves. They are damp and the atmosphere is very humid. All I can smell is must, and trees. The sound of the brook is calming me down, and soothing all my senses. I can no longer hear the sound of the men. All I can hear is the brook, and the leaves blowing in the wind. It is so peaceful; there is no disturbance, no violence, just nature. There is so much green, but that is not a bad thing. The leaves I am sitting on and under are huge. They look as though they could be used to fan an Egyptian pharaoh. As I am imagining palaces, and pyramids, I become very thirsty. I can hear the babbling brook, but cannot see it.

Following the sound of the brook, I pass so many interesting looking plants. Everyone has a different feel and color. One tree I pass vines that looked like angel hair pasta. The vines are small, and weak and have the consistency of yarn, but feel like bark. It seems as though I have been walking for hours looking for the brook. Sometimes I can hear it get louder, but I am so consumed with the different things I am seeing, I wander off track. One tree has dark purple leaves; another has leaves that look like it has leaves printed on them. Midst all the green, other colors shine through. I could see pastel pink, yellow, white, and light blue, orange, and red. Soon, I realize that I need to find the water. I devote myself just to listening. The damp leaves brush against my arms giving me chills up and down my spine.

I continue pushing through the leaves, and having their sand papery feel rub against me. Then I saw it. The brook was finally right in front of me. I can smell the water. I put my fingers in the water and watch the orange fish swim away from me in fear. Looking up from the brook, I see a plant that had pea pods like pitchers. I plucked the pitcher from its vine and collect water with it. The water hitting the back of my throat is so refreshing. It reminds me of times when I was little and my mom would bring out lemonade to my friends and I. I keep drinking the refreshing and cool water, but then the sound of footsteps came to my ears. I can hear them getting closer, my heart began to pound, and I am terrified. Voices began to reach my ears, and I drop the pitcher and I see it slide into the brook. I began to run in the opposite direction of the voices. The ground is so slippery; I try to keep my footing while running on slug like slim. I want to stay silent, but all the branches hit against me as I run. The voices still kept getting louder; I look behind me, trip over a tree root as a result. The ground is so cold, and wet, I cannot grab onto anything around me to stop my falling. The rocks are tearing up arms and legs and I feel bruises forming.

A tree finally stopped me from falling. The voices definitely found my location and I must act fast. I look around only to see an old tree trunk. Acting on impulse I push through the fallen tree branches and jump into the tree trunk. Quickly I place my hand over my mouth, so my breathing cannot be heard. I listen, as the footsteps keep getting closer. They begin pushing the fallen branches around, and get closer to me. I move my eyes to look up. A hand is placed on the branches covering me. My heart stops.