RECOMMENDED SONG ACCOMPANIMENT: "Eye On It" by TobyMac
SONG LINK: www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAdxaXSnMq4

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‘This is agonizing,’ I think, trudging slowly down the narrow dirt road. Each step sends a spark of pain up my side, and I clamp my hand over it in a pathetic attempt to relieve the pain.
“If I don’t get this treated soon, I’m gonna have a malformed ribcage for the rest of eternity,” I mutter. This ‘camp’ had better have a decent Nurse’s office, or I’m going to flip a table. Preferably the Nurse’s.

Guess I should know by now that grumbling never fixes anything, but I really just want to hear my own voice through the overbearing silence pressing in from all sides. Looking around to distract myself, I again absorb the sight of overhanging trees lining the road, flashing their bright autumn colors. A gust of wind stirs a small flock of sparrows down from their perches and sends them soaring off into the sky. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It’s so beautiful here. It’s overwhelming, the contrast between here and . . . there. The only thing keeping me from being swept away in the course of everything is the adrenaline coursing through my veins and sheer will and determination. Some days, though, I’m not sure if those are blessings or curses. Most days, I don’t really even want to know.

Brushing my long, dull blonde hair out of my eyes with my free hand, I look up at the setting sun. The yellow haze that always accompanies an autumn dusk is a reminder that I need to pick up my pace if I want to get there before nightfall.

I heft my three duffel bags higher up on my shoulder, wincing at yet another spike of pain. I guess I didn’t realize how much stuff I have until I moved it half way across the world.
For another forty minutes or so, I limp on in silence. The sun finally sinks below the horizon, bathing the world in darkness. My pupils dilate, attempting to absorb as much light as possible. I wrap my thin jacket tightly around my lithe frame, shivering from the cold that always comes with the black. The wind that moments before seemed calm and cool is now frigid and menacing; full of foreboding. It whips my hair around my face, hacking mercilessly at the cuts and scratches covering my body. I might as well jump into a campfire, with how great that feels.
‘Breathe in, breathe out. Separate yourself from the pain.’ Jaw clenched, hands balled into tight fists, one foot in front of the other. Same routine I’ve slogged through a thousand times before.

After what seems like an eternity of nothing but gravel crunching under my boots, I finally come out of the canopy of trees and into the open. Pale white light falls over everything, casting an eerie yet beautiful glow. I smile up at the full moon, comforted by the little bit of light. Darkness makes it harder to tell if someone is sneaking up on you.

In the distance I hear a yell, and tense, prepared for some sort of attack. But there is nothing. I listen, and hear it again, though this time it sounds more like a laugh. I purse my lips, not sure what to make of it. 'A laugh? Does that mean Camp is nearby?'

I quicken my pace, ignoring the burning throb in my side. If it is indeed camp, I want to get there as soon as possible, if for no other reason than to sit down and get a break. I mean, five hours of slogging along with a broken rib or five and three loaded duffels is not exactly a walk in the park. Especially after dark.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as it does whenever I'm being watched, and I tense. I continue walking, not wanting whoever it is to know I've discovered their presence. Steal the element of surprise, and you're already way further ahead than if you had it in the first place. A rustling to my left puts me on full alert, and I reach into my weapons duffel, pulling out a dagger. 'Screw surprise.' "I know you're there," I say, not slowing down. "Come out before I come in there and gut you."

A deep, preternatural growl causes me to stop in my tracks, and I turn towards the bushes.
'Okay. So it's not a person. Maybe a wolf. Or a bear.' I relax a bit. 'Animals are manageable. This shouldn't be hard at all.' Of course I had to jinx it.

The silhouette of a large, dog-like beast, taller than me, is outlined in silver against the bright full moon, casting a deep shadow over me and anything else in it's direct path. My heartbeat quickens, nervous yet curious. What kind of dog is that big? Granted, I haven't seen a lot of dogs, but this one seems extraordinarily large for one.

It hunches over and bares its teeth, which I swear would look big on a dinosaur. Its eyes glow a dull, soulless red, and its mangy coat is spotted with dried patches of blood. It opens its mouth and lets out another growl, drool and the remnants of its last meal dripping from its open maw. I stand stock still, not sure how to react to this strange creature. I count off my options in my head.

Run? Get chased and tackled from behind.

Attack? Get mauled.

Back slowly away? Look intimidated and get mutilated for showing weakness.

‘Don’t show weakness,’ I think for the millionth time in the last seven years. I straighten, keeping my face emotionless, showing neither fear nor pain. I stare straight ahead, as making eye contact is considered a challenge. Its muscles ripple with tension beneath its thick fur, and I know that it is going to pounce. Something clicks in my brain, and three seconds later I find I’ve instinctively leapt onto its back and embedded the knife in its skull. It instantly goes limp, and I roll off its back and onto my feet, eyes wide, breath rapid and shallow. I look at the corpse of the strange creature and want to stab myself.

I did it. Again. I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let myself enjoy taking a life again, and less than a day later, I go and blow it. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the guilt and misery overtake me. If I’m going to do something as cruel and idiotic as kill for fun, then I might as well just accept the consequences of it.

Eyes still closed, I twist my arm around to my lower back and add another cut to the hundred or so I’ve accumulated over the years. Each mark is a constant reminder of how desperately I need to suppress the part of myself that accepts my behavior as normal. How much I need to change.

When I open my eyes, I leap back in surprise. The corpse is gone. No, not “eaten” gone, “disappeared” gone. As in, no evidence it ever existed in the first place. I shake my head in confusion, then decide puzzling over it is not a worthwhile activity, and continue my dejected trudge across the darkened landscape.

I force a smile onto my face, trying to see how it feels. I should be happy right now. I’ve finally escaped, and I’ve finally found -- or am about to find -- the one place on earth where I won’t have to run or hide anymore. But it feels like just that: forced. ‘What’s freaking wrong with me?’ I sigh, wiping my ridiculous grin right off.

Hanging my bags on my shoulder, I use both hands to pull my long blonde hair into a low-ponytail and stuff it down the back of my ridiculously over-sized shirt. I have no clue what the mechanics of the society I’ll be stepping into are like, and until I do, it’s a lot safer to look like a guy. At least, that’s what experience tells me. Sadly, even with a three-sizes too big t-shirt, it’s pretty hard for a seventeen-year-old girl to pose as a guy. It’s doable, but not exactly painless. I rip off one of my long sleeves and lift up my shirt, shivering in the cold. I wrap the strip tightly around my upper chest and torso, wincing at the pressure it puts on my broken ribs. I tie it off in the back then pull my shirt back down.

Up ahead, on top of a steep hill, sits “camp”, the entrance illuminated by rows of torches mounted upon its walls. I let out a long breath of relief. This is it. This is the place. My new home.

‘Hopefully,’ I can’t help but add. ‘There’s no guarantee it’s what she said it was. You don’t even know if she was sane or not. So don’t get your hopes up.’ Sometimes I just want to strangle that pessimistic part of myself that has to ruin every moment. Even if it’s right. Especially if it’s right.

Letting out a groan of exasperation, I begin the walk up the hill. And then I feel it again. As if I’m being watched, but even more intensely than before. My eyes widen as the realization hits: ‘Packs. Wild canines always travel in packs. I must have just encountered the scout . . . ’ Even as I am thinking this, I’m reaching back into my bag for a weapon. I make no mistake this time, and go straight for my twin karambits. Well, they aren't actually karambits, but I like to pretend they are. They are slightly more elongated and definitely not as well-crafted. I whirl around, my eyes scanning the dark landscape for a shadow, a silhouette, movement, anything. I get more than I bargained for.

Standing there, tense and angry, is a group of six of these strange dog creatures. I know this only because there are six pairs of glowing eyes, each transfixed on me as if I am the most delectable meal they could have possibly conjured up. I find myself drowning in the depths of their hypnotic stares, and am nearly paralyzed with fear. I grin. A ridiculous and maniacal grin. Fear. Oh, yes, fear. Fear is a weapon. Some might think it’s the weapon of the thing casting it -- the “terrifying” one -- but the opposite is actually true. Fear wakes me up. Fear keeps me alive. Those who I fear are those who are the easiest to take down.

I get into a fighting stance, hands gripping my knives upside down so that the blades curve towards my elbow. My upper lip curls up, baring my teeth in a threatening snarl that really isn’t much different from the ones the strange dogs themselves bear. We stand facing each other off in a glare match before one of them -- the leader, I guess -- steps forward and prepares to spring.

‘Let him,’ I think. And so I wait. When he finally does, I leap to the side and slash at his underbelly, leaving a deep gash. Surprisingly, he does not seem at all hindered by this new injury. Instead, it only serves to anger him, and he barks an order to his companions. They fan out and circle around me, eyeing me hungrily.

Their growls are not your average dog growl. They have that deep, slow growl that makes you wonder if their voice boxes are actually located in their stomach lining, for how much vibrato it sets off in your own chest. The bloody muzzles and razor-teeth don’t help the scene much, either.

As they close in, I mentally calculate the odds. Me against six bear-sized dogs. Seems like a bit of an unfair match. Those poor beasts will be nothing but pelts and bones by the time I’m done with them.

A smirk on my face, a taunt on my tongue, I raise my knives, gesturing an open challenge. One of the dog charges again, this time with the help of two of his pack-mates. I stand stock still until he is inches away, then sidestep and dig a knife into his side. This cut is much deeper, and he yelps in pain this time. The knife still embedded, I use it as leverage, swinging my leg over and pulling myself up onto his back. I withdraw the knife, then lodge my nails into the kinks in his fur so he can’t throw me off. But trust me, he tried. He shakes me almost as badly as you’d imagine riding on the back of a horse in some horse show. You know, that game where you try not to get thrown off and break your neck? I’m surprised I don’t have whiplash yet. I dig my nails in so deeply, I think I draw blood.

I have to say, though, it was a pretty clever plan. Those dogs are pretty stupid, and didn’t seem to have enough hand-eye -- or would that be “paw-eye”? -- coordination to properly claw at me without slashing their best bud, bucking bronco. Finally, they show some sign of coherency and he starts to run towards a low-hanging tree branch, probably in hopes of knocking me off.

I put up my knives, then reach up and grab the branch as he passes under it. I nearly bite my tongue in half in pain with the wrench it gives my shoulders, and there obviously wasn’t enough momentum to swing me up over the top of the branch. I’m no acrobat. I wait for the world to stop spinning before hoisting myself up on top of it with a cringe.

The dog I was riding on has apparently decided to use its noggin and has figured out that I am no longer on its back and it can stop ramming its head into tree trunks. It and the rest of its gang come up and start barking and gnashing their teeth at the base of my tree. I just start laughing. There’s no way this can be the worst of the monsters she said there would be. She must have been exaggerating.

I raise my knife and, keeping myself perfectly still, manage to peg one of them in the face. I only have one more left, as I only grabbed two, but after killing one more, the others pick up on the pattern and decide now is a good time to run off. Hey, ten years of practice pays off.

I leap down from the branch, relieved the battle is finally over. It wasn’t long, but any battle at this point is long for me. I massage my shoulders and with a sigh, walk over to my bags, which I’d tossed into the bushes. I gasp. The bags have been ripped open and their contents scattered to and fro throughout the thick foliage. I swear. I kneel down and begin to gather the things up and stuff then back into the bags.

'Food, clothes, books, weapons…where are the pictures?' I look around frantically. The pictures. I need the pictures! They're all I have left…

I leap to my feet and scan the area, my eyes darting over everything in sight. I get back down on my hands and knees and begin to scour the forest floor. About fifteen feet away, deep in the moss and clover, I find it. A small flip book with a few tattered photographs inside. I settle back against a tree trunk and flip through it. The first one is a photograph if my mom, Aria, and I on the boat, hugging and smiling for the camera. That fateful boat, seven years ago. I close my eyes and pull a hand over my face in exhaustion. It's the last thing I have of my family. The last tie to my first life.

I flip the page, and my heart skips a beat. It's a picture of an eight-year-old girl, staring off at some fixed point behind the camera, almost as if she didn't even know a picture was being taken of her.

I slam the book shut quickly and pull it to my chest, eyes squeezed shut. I'm not ready to deal with that, yet. I need to get this over with first. I'm just not ready for all the pain and guilt. Maybe if things are going alright in a few months.

I open my eyes, and the sight that greets me stops my heart.

The Alpha.

The Alpha is charging straight at me, mouth foaming, teeth bared, eyes glowing with hatred. I don't have time to go for any weapons, so I instinctively hold out my hands, palms out, in an attempt to protect my face. I guess I do a little more than that. Two streams of pure electrical energy spiral straight out from the centers of my palms, and the beast goes through several seconds of painful electrocution before falling to the ground, a blackened corpse. I force myself to my feet, and immediately regret it. It’s been a long time since I last tried to do that, and I guess the lack of practice has taken it’s toll. I grab my bags and stumble up the rest of the hill, feeling the intense fatigue starting to infect my muscle functions. Even just the dull light of the torches on the outer walls seems to sting my eyes.

Once I pass under the arch, the blobs of color and movement begin to become more and more vague and blurry. A sudden pain strikes through the entire left side of my body, and before I know what’s happened, I’m on the ground. ‘Dammit! Perfect time for a seizure. Perfect.’

Notes

GAH These things take forever to write, especially with a 2500 word goal. I'm sorry if I take forever, and it's midnight here, so yeah...at least you can know I'm working hard! Again, any and all input appreciated. Love to know what you thought about the newest chapter! It's your guys' likes, comments, and encouragement that motivates me to keep writing! =)

UPDATE (4/21/15): Yes, so rewrote that. Took out the random karambit references (how would she have even gotten those...?) and changed the tone. Also, the ending. It sucked before.