The Wilderness; Arrival

Looking back, he saw the dark figure. But it stood on two legs. Not on four legs like before, but it simply stood there, staring at him. Ignoring the throbbing ache in his limbs, he pushed himself to keep running, the slope now aiding his momentum like a benevolent force propelling him forward. Sweat mixed with the rain, trickling down his face like tiny rivulets carving paths through soft clay. With each step, he fought to maintain his balance on the slick grass, his breaths coming in gasps and shallow, like a drowning man grasping for air. But just as he thought he might escape, his foot tripped, sending him tumbling again. Pain exploded in his limbs as he tumbled down the slope, branches and rocks scraping against his skin. He screamed and cried out, his voice lost in the roar of the storm. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, next to the river, his body battered and bruised, but miraculously still intact.

Groaning, Vincent pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, panting. He cast a frantic glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the dark figure looming over him, but there was nothing. Rain pelted down relentlessly, soaking him to the bone and adding to the chill that gnawed at his skin. With a shiver, he pulled his wet clothes tighter around himself, his teeth chattering despite his efforts to control them. Despite the ache that radiated through his body, he forced himself to take a step forward, then another. Each step felt like a monumental effort.

Using trees for support, he continued to push further, he continued to walk. That's all he could do now. Can't go back, because what if that creature was still there? Vincent gritted his teeth and stepped further and further. The village is all he could think about now, that journal, his last memory from the past. Eventually, after walking agonisingly, he saw a clearing in the forest. Rain continued to pour down, obscuring his vision and adding to the sense of urgency that drove him forward. And then, through the mist and the rain, he caught sight of it—a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Vincent quickened his pace, his footsteps splashing through the mud as he made his way toward the distant glow.

"Oh my God…"

"Holy shit…"

"Finally…" he said.

After an endless walk, he made it into the outskirts of the village, broken, and dark— ravaged by the storm. Houses lay in ruins. His heart pounded in his chest as he spotted the familiar shape of his hut, partially collapsed but still standing amidst the destruction. Ignoring the ache in his limbs, he hurried forward. The floor to his father's room had completely collapsed, and was floating on the floodwaters. Deluging himself underwater, he swam to the hut, to the window of his room. He popped his head out, and kicked away at the wooden window, the water swirling around him like a living thing, eager to pull him under.

"Break! You stupid window!" he grunted.

With one final, desperate blow, the wood splintered beneath his assault. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself through the shattered window and collapsed onto the floor of his room, water began to pool in. He wiped the water off his face with his hand, as his eyes caught a familiar sight, the journal was still there, atop his closet. With a relieved sigh, Vincent reached out and retrieved the journal, taking it in his sodden hands as though it were the most precious treasure in the world.

"Finally…"

"You're mine…" he muttered, as if he were hypnotised.

Climbing out the window, he clutched his journal tightly, and swam with the current to where he came from, arm keeping the book as high up as possible. He exhaled heavily as he made it back up, each breath like a gust of wind. The journal was soaked, but not so much the pages would tear apart. He rested it under his shirt, and took shelter in the undergrowth, under a dense, twisted tree. Vincent took the journal out, and blew at the cover. He held it upward, so the wind could whip through it, hopefully drying it. His whole body was sore and aching from pain. He groaned and cried, but he succeeded, and was still alive. Panting heavily as if he were an animal, he closed his eyes for a moment, back resting against the trunk of the tree. 

However, after a while, his eyes snapped open to the sound of twigs snapping. It couldn't be the creature, it couldn't have followed him here, could it? He began breathing fast, and in gasps. Eyes darted around. But then he heard voices, yelling of some sort, voices of— people.

"So you say there's a village here?" a voice rang out.

"Yes you reptile! I saw one a few days ago! Before this storm." another voice carried through the roaring wind.

"Alright alright. Enough of you two, always fighting. Look, I see a clearing." a third voice called.

Vincent's heart pounded in his chest, what was happening? But he couldn't get himself to stand up, not anymore, his knees had given up on him. Lightning flashed across the sky, as he saw three figures approach him.

"What the… who are you?" one of them said, pointing a weird tool at him.