She's Leaving Home(Part Two) (standard:fairy tales, 797 words) [2/2] show all parts
Author: Remnant Vie	Added: May 05 2001	Views/Reads: 2866/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Our heroines' identity revealed, she enjoys her first few days of freedom happily, until innocently she puts down her guard towards a strange child she encounters in the woods, which jeopardizes her entire well-being.

Part Two 

Everything had been going relatively well those first few days away from
home. Despite my poor mathematic skills, an excellent sense of 
direction kept me following the river, and I was making pretty good 
time. Away from my stepmothers’ nagging I had a ball getting up when I 
wanted, not bruising my knees from the countless hours spent on evening 
prayer, belching out loud, scratching myself in those “hard to reach” 
places, and enjoying each day as it came. It was bliss to me, 
Gretel-Lanala , a so-called simple girl of the hills whose was life was 
ruled by all sorts of stupid traditions, rules, and backwards ways. 

Though I missed my elder brother Hansel, and Father, I kept telling
myself that this was for the best, especially as the Ides steadily 
approached. Judging by the positions of the ever-changing moon, I had 
roughly a week and three days, before the sickness would hit me. After 
translating the Bible countless times in both English, and Adinnon (the 
defunct language of our Lanala ancestors that Eirsha insisted we all 
learn, and communicate with at home), you’d think I would have gotten 
something out of all the verses advising future generations not to 
dwell on things beyond their control. 

I was gaily picking berries, and singing a treacherous song against our
King, when I heard small whimpering noises. Bringing my tune to a halt, 
I stood very still and looked around cautiously, thinking that it might 
have been a rabid animal. I slowly reached for the hand blade I had 
began to keep attached to my wrist after being attacked by several 
squirrels in my sleep, and listened. I hear the sound again, this time 
from a set of bushes near the ones I’d been picking my dinner from. I 
picked up a large rock and flung it into the bushes, and ran back 
several feet. There was a thunk as it hit the ground, and the “thing” 
that was whimpering, emerged. Expecting something of a threat, I was 
surprised when a little boy, no more than six summers, ducked out, and 
began crying. Mentally kicking myself in the bum, I rushed towards him, 
sitting down the knife to keep from frightening him anymore than I had. 


“Forgive me Sweetheart, I thought you were...well never mind.” Looking
around, I didn’t see any other people, shocked that any parent would 
allow their child to go off on their own. He sniffed, and looked at me 
silently, only looking away to blow his nose on a grimy sleeve. “My 
name is Gretchen Lanala Stannock Tateevana of Swantz”, I said using my 
full Christian name as reassurance that I wasn‘t some uneducated 
wanderer, or pedophile, “are you lost?” Rubbing a dirty fist across his 
eyes he nodded. “Yes.” he said softly, smiling shyly up at me from 
under a pair of neat, reddish brown bangs.  The resemblance to my 
brother Hansel, when he was a little boy, was uncanny. 

“What’s your name? I mean what are you called?” Giggling, he shrugged
and held up his arms to me. “Hug?” he asked me timidly, with a 
quivering lip. Though I’m not (and have never been) a touchy feely 
person, I bent down and opened up my arms to him. “Um, alright, I 
cannot see why not. Just reframe from crying again please.” The strange 
child ran into my arm, and squeezed me tightly around my neck. I hugged 
him, then started to move back, but he kept his arms laced around me, 
squeezing so hard I could barely breathe. Alarmed at the strength one 
of such small stature possessed, as long as the lack of oxygen going to 
my brain, I began rasping for him to let go. I was trying to push him 
away, when he unsheathed a knife, and put it to my throat. 

“YOU ALL CAN COME OUT NOW!” he called out to the seemingly empty forest.
I did a double take as hooligans garbed in padded clothing, and 
breastplates reflecting the overhead sun into my eyes, emerged from 
behind trees, bushes, and fallen logs, all pointing arrows, and swords 
at me. Trying not to hyperventilate, I laughed dryly, as one moved to 
bind my hands and feet together. “Is this a jest of some sort, because 
I for one-.” Before I could finish my statement, the butt of a sword 
made contact with my skull and all went black. 

~Fin Part Two (to be continued)~ 

**"As a, uh, "struggling" artist, and poet, all feedback(likes, gripes,
questions, bribes[lol], story ideas, or whatever) are not only welcome, 
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