The Forest

"The days are shorter. The nights are colder. Society is crumbling. The supplies are running out. The government is destroying us. The misery. We're dying from the inside out, because of technology. These are the elements of the "progress" that mankind wanted so desperately to achieve."

John knew that. The statement echoed in his very soul as he mouthed the words to himself in the darkness. The night was freezing cold and the forest was unforgiving. The noise of insects and the hooting and grunting of animals was barely audible above John's heartbeat. John's heart was beating like a helve hammer inside his chest. The adrenaline coursed through his veins and cold sweat soaked his clothes.

John was bleeding from running through the brambles earlier. His feet hurt from running and his thoughts were racing.

John was not much of a woodsman. He was a counselor for breast cancer survivors. Many of his clients were dealing with mastectomy procedures and he ran weekly group meetings at his office near the forest. The issues of loss of femininity and losing their sexuality plagued the survivors. John did his best in therapy to reintegrate them into the society from which the survivors now felt so removed.

John's life was boring but he liked it. Helping people was in his nature. He had a birthmark in the shape of the continent of Africa and he would rub olive oil on it at night.

But not tonight. Tonight John was running through the woods. Running for his life.

John blamed the whole situation on Cleite. Cleite joined the group on Tuesday. Cleite was depressed and unpredictable and she was turning the group against John with her headstrong diatribes against men. The cancer had made Cleite bitter, and her physique was as strong as her hateful feelings.

The meeting had gone awfully. John walked out to his car dejected. Cleite shouted from behind him, "John!"

As John turned to see what the commotion was about, he heard the distinctive pluck of a bow and the whizzing of an arrow past his head. John began to run and a second arrow flew past him.

John didn't have time to think as he ran into the forest. He weaved between the trees and ran as fast as he could. John had been in a runner in his youth but a car accident in the 90s had left him lame. The best John could muster these days was around 7 minute mile pace. No sense in thinking about that. Nobody can outrun an arrow.

John rushed and ran into the night.

These are the elements of the "progress" that mankind wanted so desperately to achieve.

John hid behind an oak tree and struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were watering. John gasped for air. He was dizzy and worried about passing out.

Just then, Cleite stepped out from behind the tree and saw John. She looked at John with a disdainful look and bent the yew of the bow. John clutched his chest. The carbon-shafted razor arrow protruded from his chest. The arrow punctured his lung. He was choking on blood. John fell to the ground and quickly passed out.

Then he woke up. Cleite was still there. She stopped doing CPR on him and killed John again.