Chasing Betsy English

Her heart pounded in her chest as she ran, each thud matching the rhythm of her hurried footsteps. The wind whipped past her, tugging at the strands of her hair as she dashed through the dense trees.

Her legs were wet and slippery as a result of the morning mist still visible on the dry leaves and small plants.

The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant calls from birds. To Bett, it was eerily quiet, as though the world around her was holding its breath. Meanwhile, she was the one holding on to her dear life.

"Aaaaarrrgghh..." she groaned silently; he was so close, too close. She could feel it, hear it, from his heavy pants and frustrated groanings.

"Shit," she cursed.

"How could an elderly man run this fast?" she murmured between breaths.

"Is he a dog or something?"

She didn't dare look behind her; she couldn't afford to. Any mistakes now could lead to trauma much bigger than what she was already facing.

Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but her feet refused to slow. The ground was slippery, and her feet were sore and bruised as a result of broken branches and forest thorns.

The uneven ground below her seemed to rise and fall, making her stumble and grasp at branches for support. The darkness was creeping in, but Bett didn't stop; she had to keep moving, keep going forward.

"Aaaaarrrgghh..." she groaned again, frustrated, but this time louder.

This scene was so familiar; every bit of this felt like before. She was delving deeper into the depths of the forest, places only meant for the village hunters like Mr. Calm, Sam's father, and even the idiot chasing after her right now: Mr. Jerry. He had left behind his wife and three children only to trail behind her on her way home from work.

Bett was tired; she needed rest and freedom from these men, her father, and even from this cursed village. She was barely eighteen, for God's sake; just a few months left, and they all wanted to devour her.

Even as she delved deeper into the dark, she wasn't moved nor scared by the eyes that might be watching her and the movements of things in between the branches. The woods were a labyrinth of shadows and uncertainty, but she was born here, grew, and was groomed here; she knew the paths, the streams, the hills, and every nook to get her back to the village.

The path was just ahead, and she knew she would make it. She just had to. Betsy followed the small clearing and creek back home.

The moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting a pale glow on the ground. She could see the silhouette of the village from afar, and peace began to creep its way back to her heart.