Prompt: “I can’t lose you.” / “This isn’t open for discussion.”
He knew his woods. Knew every twist to every winding path, knew every nook and cranny and crevice. Knew every monster that grunted and shuffled far within its depths.
So why was his quarry proving to be so elusive?
The Author huffed and tightened his grip on his bat, using it to hit a low-hanging branch out of his way as he went.
They’d been playing this game of hide and seek- with Edward running and hiding and the Author ever-so carefully, ever-so patiently stalking him- for more than two hours. And it had been fun at first. He’d enjoyed it immensely.
But the Author’s patience was wearing thin, and the sun was rapidly disappearing below the treeline. It would be dark soon, and Edward would have to come out. It was either that or risk running into one of the many, many monsters that roamed these woods.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the Author called to the whispering trees, to the whining insects, to the breeze that pulled at his clothes. “I won’t hurt you. I love you! And wouldn’t you rather be with me than out here after dark?”
A distant roar shook the trees, echoing through the dimming sky. Behind him, the bushes rustled.
“This isn’t open for discussion,” the Author continued, starting toward the noise, padding silently over the dirt and grass, “you need to come out now.”
He lunged forward, into the bush. “Ah-ha!”
But there was no one. No head full of black curls, no smug smile, no Edward.
There was another roar, and not a moment later a distinctly Edward-sounding scream.
The Author whipped around, taking off into the woods.
—
The sun was gone and night had fallen by the time he smelled blood.
“Edward?” The Author slowed, looked around, noted that Edward had made it a lot closer to the road than he would’ve liked.
But that wasn’t important now. The smell of blood hung in the air like a fog, and bushes had been trampled. Branches lay, splintered, on the ground. Some of them were as thicker than the Author’s arm, clearly having been destroyed by something of superior strength and size.
Whatever it was that had done this was gone now. The question was whether or not it had taken Edward with it.
The Author leaned to examine the blood-splattered trunk of a maple tree, reaching out to run his fingers over it. It was fresh.
Suddenly he heard a low, pained moan, and he turned, spotting the figure lying on the ground.
“Edward! Love!” He hurried over, dropped his bat to the ground, knelt by him.
Edward was lying on his back, clutching at a clearly broken arm. Blood trickled from a gash in his forehead, and from several more lacerations that were visible through ragged tears in his shirt.
Tears spilled down his face and he cringed away as the Author reached for him, giving a small, strangled cry as his injuries were jostled.
“No! It’s okay.” The Author held up his hands. “I won’t hurt you. I’m going to take you back to the cabin and we’re going to get you patched up, okay?”
This time, Edward let the Author touch him, let the Author pick him up to cradle him against his chest.
The Author bent so he could retrieve his bat, somehow managing to balance it and Edward at the same time. Then he started back toward the cabin.
“You’re safe now, I promise. Nothing will hurt you.” He murmured. “I will keep you safe. No monster’s gonna get you. Not while I’m around.”
Edward didn’t reply, just heaved a defeated sigh. He hadn’t been able to escape this time. Hadn’t been able to break free of the Author’s grasp.
“I can’t lose you, you know,” the Author continued, tightening his grip around him, ignoring Edward’s mumbled protest. “I could never write another one like you.”
emptynarration 