Crossroads and Cries

Amelia fell backward onto the ground. The sudden impact didn't hurt, however, because she had fallen on a small meadow. Finally in her favorite clearing in the woods, she lied down to take in the fresh scent of Spring. With the harsh winds and stinging snow of Winter finally behind her small town, Spring had begun its calm reign three weeks ago. The white noise of the leaves shaking in unison calmed her, and the afternoon sun peaking through the leaves drowned her in warmth.

Despite this euphoric paradise of a place's grip on her, reality seemed to be gnawing at her. Her eyelids shut rancourously as if she had decided she was not worthy of such a beautiful place. Thoughts swarmed her mind as her euphoria quickly transformed to silent anxiety. When her eyes opened again, one could determine that the Mother Nature had failed her. That look of worry and unsureness had returned.

She stood up slowly, using a nearby sycamore as a crutch. Before she even knew what was happening, she had forced her finger down her throat. It sat there for a few seconds before she unwittingly responded with a short heave of a gag. To her dismay and pleasure, nothing had come up. Not the bologna she had eaten for lunch nor the Chex Mix she had chowed on before leaving on her trek.

Like a determined soldier, she shakingly tried one more time. This time she didn't even have it in for three seconds before she stopped and pulled her finger out. Apparently the feeling of it all wet and warm grossed her out more than her awkward body shape did.

She looked down at her finger, pointed outward plainly. Slowly, it curved back into her fist and her arm lowered to her side. She began to sob quietly.  Her small whimpers reached nothing but the creatures of the woods' ears. As she realized this, her whimpers became angry cries.

"WHY?!" Amelia shouted to no one. She silently walked back toward her house. She watched her shoes the entire pathway, ignoring the trees, plants, birds, and sky until she reached the dirty fork in the road. She abruptly stopped walking when she heard a loud gunshot.

BANG!

The noise had obviously come from the left path...her long driveway. Her wide eyes sparkled in the sunset's low light as she looked from one path to the next. She tried to decide whether to call the police from her neighbor's farm or shrug it off as her father hunting.

BANG! BANG!

Now dismissively, Amelia nonchalantly walked down her path. She realized it foolish to yield to shots of a gun in the country. It was most likely a hunter.

As she walked through the line of trees that obscured her house from the road, she stopped. Her mouth opened involuntarily and a quick steady breath came out of it. She began to shake violently. There was a strange car in her driveway and her front door was left open; the door was swinging in the wind.

Not knowing whether to hide and take cover or faint on the spot, she watched as a shady figure came toward the door. A large silouhette met her and stopped.

As she squinted to make out who the person was, she was greeted by a click. She gulped and balled her hands into fists as she nervously stepped back. She shook her head, ready to pivot and run.

However, the large figure did not hesitate. As Amelia turned to sprint back through the trees, a ear shattering bang sounded through the woods. As the bullet pierced her skin and tore through her vital organs, she screamed in sheer pain.

Somewhere next door, her scream had awaken somebody. They fired a warning shot near Amelia's home, but the intruder had left without a trace. The farmer reached Amelia's bloody back as quickly as possible. She had crawled across the grass and made it to the front doorstep where she had gone limp.

Soon afterwards, she died. The farmer held her in his arms, shook his head at her and said, "Jesus, if only you'd yelled sooner."