ClearView Writing

The mist covered the rocky ground, shrouding all but the dull glint of the rusting rails that ran into the distance.  Thickly lined trees ran on either side of the train track rails, they were no use to the stumbling figure, running at haste along the rarely trodden path.  The smell, His smell, would give him away.

A blast of wind shook the trees and sent a soaking mist over the man as he stumbled over the wooden boards holding the steel lines in place.  With every step the figure was looking fearfully towards the rustling trees overhead.  Each green leaf singing a mournful song of suffering.  As the man paused in doused silver moonlight two straps intwined with garlic could be seen adorning the mans bare chest, so tight red marks spread out along the mans skin.

As the man stumbled further and further up the shallow incline an orange haze began to appear in the sky ahead.  Despite the wind whipped mist stinging the eyes the man raised his head to see a small town illuminating the nights star studded shroud.  The light orange glow threw a discomforting haze over the land, but still the sight of humanity not less than 2 miles away from his spot sent a hot pleasure through his mind, a thought that maybe just maybe he could survive.

The game had been played for centuries, and in this town high in the hills of the forlorn country bordering the old Russian conflicts there was little enough to protect the people who had become the unwilling participants.

A stiff shiver went up the spine of the young man as a howl went up from the trees.  In the forest the sound bounced carefree creating an echo that chilled his soul and sent his footsteps into a faster erratic pace.  It was not hard to tell that the figure was in pain as he ran, his chest was clutched and he itched repeatedly at his bare skin as he ran.

Another howl leapt through the shrouding mists that clung to the figure like a damp cloak.  Another shiver ran through the man’s bones as he continued his terrified stumble through the ominous half light.

Off to the side he imagined a dark shadow flick through the woods, running at a pace much faster than he could hope to achieve. But still he tried as the adrenaline of mortality caught his muscles.

A thudding sound from behind startled him, a blinding light silhouetted his frame against the ground for a hundred yards ahead before a stinging blow sent him spiralling to the ground.  With a dull roar the train swept past, oblivious to the crippled figure struggling to get back on to his feet.

As the man sat stunned by the impact  he began to groan a deep mournful sound, his body shook and vibrated so hard it blurred around the edges.

Seconds later a manic laugh burst from the trees and a rough bark began to penetrate the sodden mist. With a jolt the figure rose.  The lights were now all but 200 yards away, through the blur he saw a car crossing ahead.  Here he could hide, here he could lay low.

A figure stepped out in front of him, a crossbow raised.

A dull crack resounded through the thickening mist, a stake had been thrust deeply into the chest of the man.  With a groan he fell to his knees, while his hair had almost instantly whitened,

Slowly his hair dissolved, dropping into the mud and disappearing, his skin had turned a pallid grey and was turning with rapidity into a fine dust, which was already running as it absorbed the mist. Within minutes the figure was no more than a gray pile in the sodden ground, slowly leaking into the earth with nothing remaining but a wooden stake, burned black at the tip.

The man with the crossbow smiled, the hunt was over, his trophy claimed.