Short Stories

Not Everyone is to Be Trusted

Pain runs up and down my body from my neck to my thighs. I clench my eyes tighter as I hang on to the last clutches of sleep. My fingers slide in towards my palm, the rich soil digging its way under my nails. My head shifts and rough, dead leaves scratch against the skin of my cheek. The haze in my mind clears away and my judgement slowly comes back to me. I quickly realize that something is amiss.

My body shoots up into a sitting position. The early morning sunlight glares into my eyes and my hand quickly shoots up to save my sensitive eyes. My gaze slowly moves over the hundreds of redwoods that surround me. The world spins slightly and I focus hard on a single branch from the giant tree in front of me. My stomach curdles and I stagger up to my feet. The blood aggressively pumps to my brain as I rest my left hand on the side of my head, swifts of jet black hair peeking through between my fingers. I lean against one of the trees, the rough bark digging into my hand. The pain in my hand distracts me from the queasiness of my stomach. Spotting my dark coat, I wipe it free of dirt and slip it on. I stagger a few steps forward and collapse against another trunk of wood. Sticky, moist liquid sticks to my skin as I press against the tree. I bring my hand up to my face and stare at the dark copper liquid. A sharp smell invades my senses and I gag on the metallic stench. My heart drops and my breathing stops as thousands of thoughts run through my head. This is blood.

My eyes shift down to the ground and search every inch of visible skin for any signs that it was my blood that I found. The feeling in my legs vanishes as I fall to my knees. There wasn't a single injury on my body. I was perfectly fine. So it's not my blood. My chest constricts as I look back at my blood soaked hand. Someone or something has to be out there, dead or slowly dying in great pain. Wiping my hand on the thin cloth of my jeans, I stagger on forward. The farther I go along, the more blood I find. After hours of my sluggish walking, it gradually becomes a brighter crimson, not so dried out and sticky. Suddenly, I begin to fall forward into the thin layer of decaying leaves. My head bounces from the impact and rests onto something... soft. Pulling myself up, I notice the white clump of cloth lying innocently on the black soil. I can already smell the indistinguishable aroma of metal in the air, almost to the point of wanting to gag. My fingers brush over it, feeling how damp it is. Without a second thought, I grip the edges tightly and pull it up, spreading it so that I could see the whole of it. I soon come to realize it is a simple shirt. Yet it is a shirt with blood dripping down the bottom with three long, ragged rips running down the chest. Someone is still alive, still fighting for their life. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I run along the blood soaked path, needing to find this person.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice cracking. The dryness of my mouth causes me to cough, sending waves of discomfort up my throat. "Is anyone here?"

A figure drags itself out from behind a ginormous redwood. Derek! Scratches decorate the proximity of both his back and from what I can tell, his chest as well. His jeans are just as ragged as the shirt I now have. His blue eyes stare up at me, "Leave. Now."

"But you are hurt." I argue, kneeling down by him. Pushing him onto his back, I finally witness the true extremity of his injuries. His whole chest was a mess of blood and torn muscles. Glancing up at him, I notice his sickly pale complexion. How much blood has he lost already? I press the shirt firmly to the open wound, trying my best to help him. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing." He mutters and turns his head to the other side. Minutes pass in which neither of us dare move, let alone speak to each other. I couldn't help but think of how different he looks without his varsity jacket and a cocky grin on his face. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you need it." I shrug easily.

"But you don't have to." He spits his words out, still not looking back at me. "If I were you, I would have ran by now."