[Splat]

Ok, I did about half of this chapter last Wednesday and all but the last paragraph on Thursday morning and had to stop for an exam. It took me until today (Sunday) to find the motivation to finish it! I don't think the ending's so good but I think the first half is some of my best. I actually felt really bad at what I was doing to Barry.

I can't believe this! I'm getting an emotional attachment to a character I created!

I'll just let you read it, shall I?


Chapter 4, Forgetting

Barry threw his box off of his back and took a step away from it, away from the path. Away from his tribe, his friends, away from everything he had known for the last 20 years.

He hesitated and turned back. Through the trees he could see the path as the stragglers of the group tottered past without ever noticing him. He reached down for his box, which had landed upside down. The lid had fallen off and some of the contents had spilt across the forest floor. He turned it the right way up and placed it neatly across the track like a barrier cutting him off from the path. He picked up the skull of his first kill and rested it in his hands. The elongated jaws, the beady eye sockets, the crack down the side where his arrow had hit and shot though the bone like a wedge, driving it apart.

He threw it into the box and picked up a few stray arrows from the ground. He found a few more lying around inside the box and he slipped them all neatly back into their sheath and laid it in the box.

As he picked up the lid he noticed a carved piece of iron that also had fallen out. It was a figure of the sun he had dreamed of and longed for during all those years in that cold cell, working all day, lying awake at night listening to the moaning and sobbing of the mudokons around him. Suddenly he didn’t want to leave. It felt so hard to once again forget everything he’d once known and move on. Friends that had become closer than family, Graham who had always stood by him and refused to escape without him. Edam with all his quirks, his temper and his constant, irritating philosophising. Poor, naïve Jason who probably still believed that he was standing away from the path, relieving himself.

He moved to put the carving into his loincloth and then froze. Angrily, he flung the piece of iron into the box, closed the lid over it and stood up. He mustn’t do this. He needed to forget this all, to blank out this era of happiness in his life. He was taking the Orb south for the sake of his species. He was leaving behind friends that he would almost certainly never see again. And he could only bring himself to do that by giving it up. By forgetting it all. By leaving all this in a dream. Or perhaps a story that had happened to someone else.

It wasn’t part of his life. It couldn’t be part of his life because he knew that he couldn’t have left it all behind if it had been him.

With hot tears running down his face he turned around and ran into the forest.

When Graham came looking for him 15 minutes later he was already more than a mile away.

* * *

Barry ran though trees without looking back. When he came to a stream he splashed southwards along it, so that those dreams couldn’t follow him. He eventually came to a pool in the stream where the water became around a metre deep and he splashed through with it around his waist. Half way through the pool he stopped and looked down into the water. After a few seconds the rippling he’d caused ended and he stared down at his own reflection.
Black tribal paint still blemished his face. He stared at the hateful marks for a few seconds before plunging his head into the water, rubbing at his face with his hands, coming up for air only when his lungs were screaming before once plunging his head into the icy, breathless mass. Reaching down, he grabbed handfuls of gritty dirt off the bottom of the pool and scrubbed at his face with it, not stopping even when his blood began to discolour the water.

And then, with choking sobs, he pulled himself to the bank, and laid on the water’s edge for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually he pulled himself onto his hands and looked around once more at his reflection, fear coursing through him that the paint would still be there.

But it was gone and on several parts of his face, was replaced by weeping red scars which, to Barry, seemed a lot less ugly than the black marks.

* * *

Saying goodbye one last time would have been too much for the ex-Chief Warrior of the Edakee Tribe. He had intended to stay till they’d once more set up camp but that would have meant another ceremony. Once more he would have been above them all and they would spread out below him and whatever he said wouldn’t have been enough.
Graham begging to come as well was more than he could stand. He knew that they couldn’t do it together but the fact that that choice had been there… And that despite it all, he could have taken it…

These thoughts plagued Barry as he ran. Thoughts that he wanted so desperately to drive out of his because they forced him too look back, the thing he never wanted to do again.

He had to move slower now as the trees were thicker and he didn’t like the idea of running into one of them. Picking along gave him more time to think and despite his best efforts, all he could think about was all he was leaving behind.

Mentally kicking himself he stopped and looked around, searching for a sign of a sparser part of the forest. Then, heading slightly left of his original path, he picked his way round tree branches and over rotting wood and low bushes, until he came to a patch of the forest where there was a lot less cover.

He knew better than to run but that wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Places like these were dangerous, the little cover for such a long way meant he was an easy target for any patrols that came through here. That was what he wanted in the end of course, but out here there was a definite chance that any patrols that found him might be from the wrong factory and he could end up Odd-knew-where. He had to keep his eyes and ears open as he stalked from tree to tree, slipping through the grass and ducking under bushes. This left little time for thought of much else.

It was a much slower process than going through the trees but the longer he spent, the less he thought. Still, by nightfall he’d made a good dent in his journey. At one point a patrol had crossed his path but hadn’t seen him. His skin-colour disguised him against the bushes and the sligs all looked pretty drunk anyway.

Even as it grew dark he kept going. The sooner he got out of the forest, the less he would have to look back. Once he was in the factory there would be no going back and thoughts of turning and running back to the village would no longer plague him.

And he didn’t want to dream.

Once in the night he heard talking and crept towards the source. A group of sligs were sitting around a campfire, looking depressed. Glancing around the clearing he’d seen nothing to suggest where they’d come from and he moved on, not wanting to take the risk.

He kept going all night and the next day. Another night came and went. By the second morning his brain was foggy and his limbs felt like lead but he didn’t want to stop. He took the Orb out of his loincloth and stared at it, trying to motivate himself. He had to get further, not much further. Just a little longer and he could stop. Just a little longer. Not far. Not far…

He tripped and fell over onto his face. The Orb fell out of his hand and rolled into the grass. Sleep claimed him.



I changed the formatting a little to show the paragraphing.
What dya think?