Day #27 – by Amber Averay (continued from Day #26):
Legs pumping, feet stumbling over tufts of dry grass and ropey roots shooting through the earth, I questioned everything. Was this real? Could I really be racing along a dirt track, sucking fresh air into my lungs, or was I still back there, captive in his isolated warren? Standing in a weapon-lined room, trapped in my own mind while he manipulated my senses?
I tripped, wrenching my ankle, and pitched forward though somehow caught my footing – after some inelegant flapping of my arms like a demented bird. Pain sparked up my leg, but I forced myself onward, unconvinced that even that was true. I’d experienced too much, felt too much, only to be shown it naught but a trick, to trust that this was reality.
My mind couldn’t be believed, even though I felt every jolting footfall, each sharp ache in my ankle. The warm breeze caressing my sweaty face and stirring dust from the dirt track…
I suddenly jerked to a stop, so abruptly I skidded clumsily before stilling. My lungs pumped like a bellows, my gasps were roars in my ears, yet almost drowned out by the deafening thud of blood, my racing heartbeat, my thundering pulse.
Frantic, suspicious, my eyes darted about, taking in the flat ground, the earthen path vanishing into the distance, the sweltering heat of the day. It took a moment for my brain to register what I was seeing – to notice what was missing.
Where was the hill? The scorch marks? The smoke, the grey carpet of fallen ash, the flaming ropes of fire?
Damn it! I mentally cried out, pushing fists into my eyes and roughly scrubbing as if that could offer clarity. Is this real?
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