Honeysuckle: Red

Chapter 1: Seeing Red

The bright light of the moon is enough to run by, but if you can see, then they can see you. Your feet are steady beneath you, and your breathing is under control. You'd rather find a place to hide and let them wear themselves out, but it's too bright. You need to keep moving as quickly and as silently as you can.

You weren't practiced at running through the woods like this, but you had done your best. Immature prisoners like you were ignored most of the day, so you had set up your room as an obstacle course. For ages you had run around in as big a circle as you could, leaping over furniture and exercising for hours a day by the time you felt you were ready.

No one had ever escaped.

No one had ever tried, as far as you knew.

For prisoners, you were treated well. Large living areas, private baths, a steady supply of media and clothing, and you even got to socialize with the others. You were fed well, educated, and cared for. Everything that was needed for a good life was provided.

Everything except freedom.

The one thing you longed for that no book could sate, that no food could dampen, that no drink or promise could dissuade.

You let the moonlight sink into your soul as you ran. You felt your body exalt in the pleasure of running, you reveled in the burn of your lungs, and sting of exertion in your muscles. To move your body and move through the world was a pleasure you hadn't known until tonight.

Twenty years of life. Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty days of preparations, of secrecy, of duplicity, of tenacity. Eight long years dedicated to a single goal. If you were caught you would never be left unsupervised ever again. It was possible they would disable you so you couldn't even walk.

Capture was not an option. You would run like this again tomorrow, and the day after, and any day after that when you wanted to. That was the goal.

Freedom meant you would do what you wanted, and if that brought you to the end of your days, then so be it. No one in your position ever died free. They never died young. Protection paid for in blood – a cost and a benefit exchanged without question.

Without consent.

Without freedom.

Moonlight shimmered across the forest floor and the unnatural reflection catches your attention. Smoothed stones, a proper path. The very beginnings of one, but just beyond the thin under brush you could see it.

Veering toward it, you step lightly on the stones. You had mashed mud and clay onto the soles of your shoes long before now. Anything to make you quieter as you ran. You had used the technique to muffle your running in your own room as well, so you hadn't even needed to adjust when you had ran away earlier.

The thick muck and mud on your shoes wasn't enough to muffle your steps completely at the stones became more and more well-defined. You slow your steps, choosing silence over speed as the path became more of a path. The tress and underbrush you would've used to cover yourself were far too sparse anyway.

The trees pulled back away from the stones and the moonlight washed over you completely. You took in a deep breath. Somehow the pale moonlight felt warm and comforting.

Continuing down the pathway, you realize that the area around you is less wild and more cultivated. Care was being taken with the plants around you, and there was a pattern and conscious decision within the otherwise wild appearance.

The conscious decision left you with the distinct impression that visitors were not welcome.

With no signs or other warnings however, you had little reason to turn away. Hopefully, those who still pursued you, if there were any left, would assume you to be turned away by such a reception. You hadn't heard anything behind you for some time, and you imagined that those who were after you hadn't expected you to be physical able of getting very far.