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Ian Somers

The Hidden Gift

  • mk ghostcompartió una citahace 3 años

    Smoke & Mirrors
    Night was fast approaching and I was running out of time. I’d spent over ten hours wandering through the forest, unable to find a way out and it would be an impossible task once the sun set. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but at the same time I didn’t want to spend an autumn night out in the Scottish wilderness, and certainly not in that particular wooded area; someone had been following me all day and despite my numerous attempts at an ambush they had evaded me time and time again.

    I was beginning to think my pursuer was a figment of my imagination until I heard the footsteps once more. I dashed down a slope then sprinted for the cover of a fallen tree. I crouched low to the ground and watched from behind the twisted branches for any sign of life. The forest had fallen silent again and after ten minutes I rose despondently from my hiding place and continued my search for an escape route from the dreadful woodland. The footsteps were not the only things that had me on edge. The forest itself was unsettling. At times that day the trees on the periphery of my vision seemed to move. Something very unusual, and sinister, was going on around me and I was convinced I had been led into a trap that morning. One that I would not easily break free of.

    The sun was low to my right and I figured I was heading south. That was the direction I needed to be going if I was to make it back to the road that I’d foolishly left that morning. I set a strong pace and kept to that direction for more than twenty minutes. I stopped when I came to a felled tree – the very same one I’d hidden behind twenty minutes earlier. I kicked up some loose dirt and roared in frustration.

    How was this possible? I’d kept the sun to my right the whole time yet I’d walked in a circle. It went against all logic and I’d wasted too much time. The sun was slipping behind the labyrinth of pines and the sky was dimming rapidly. I’d never make it out in darkness and I accepted I was sleeping rough for the night.

    I sat down on the trunk of the withered tree and rubbed my face. It was getting cold now the sun was fading and I could see faint trails of mist every time I exhaled. This was not going to be a pleasant experience. It was made ten times worse when I heard the sporadic tapping sounds from the branches above me – the first and unmistakable signs of rain. Within minutes it was a good old-fashioned Scottish downpour. I pulled up my hood and pushed my hands into my pockets and cursed under my breath. I should have been searching out shelter but I was too irritated to concentrate on
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