I was hunting in the woods when I heard it.

It was more of a curious sound. Like the breaking of a twig. A rustle of the leaves. The wind is too loud. All normal sounds. Just more punctuated. Kind of like the atmosphere is telling you there is something about to happen.

I spin around on the spot, drawing my knife that was resting at my hip. The grass at my feet tickles my ankles when I stalk in my most quiet tread. As I scan the trees for any sign of danger, I strain my ears to pick up any more sounds of disturbance. I thought there was something, but as I look around I don't see anything except the underbrush and trees. I still am not sure I'm safe, but I turn around and proceed to walk silently on the pine needles, holding my knife a little more securely. 

Today is a tranquil afternoon. The animals are almost struggling, trying to mask their scurrying. I rarely hunt, but today, food was scarce, and what could I do? I hate hurting animals. I almost just went hungry today. But my stomach protested very violently.

Another noise catches me off guard. I turn slowly around in a circle again. I still can't see or hear anything, but the silence is apparent. I am being followed by someone or something. I don't know what, but possibly something terrible.

My eyes try to pick up a good climbing tree, but somehow there are none where I am. How can this be? I can almost always climb any tree. But all these are straight trunks until at least 20 feet above me. I have no choice but to run. 

Running is the most obnoxious thing I can do. The crashing of my feet hitting the ground makes my destination very clear to anyone trying to know where I am. And it makes me more vulnerable. But… if there is an immediate threat, and a chance I could outrun them, then sure. Running is fine. But I will always prefer scouring a tree, up to one of the top branches, where nothing can get me.

I am trying to understand why I run. Why fear is just up my throat in terrifying waves. There is nothing there. But then again, I can always tell if there is something other than me in the woods. My intuition is telling me to run. So that's what I'm doing. 

I run in the direction of home, where I can get into my clearing and be safe. It's a long way away, but running from home doesn't make sense either. As I look behind me to see if anything is following me, My foot catches on an overturned log and I fall on my face, pine needles sticking in my eyes.

great.

I quickly get off the ground and my heart races. Why don't I see anything? Where is this sound coming from? 

A new, closer rustle alerts me. I look down, see a flash of bright orange, and jump about a foot in the air. But when I realize what it is, I almost laugh in relief. It's just my cat, olive. A few years ago, I found olive laying right under a tree outside and she looked sick like close to dying sick. I brought her into the house and fed her and cleansed her up. When she was healthy again, I let her go back outside. But she never left. She would follow me out and sometimes surprise me inside if I left a window open. So we naturally became best friends.

“Olive! Oh my gosh… don't scare me like that!” I calm myself down and take a deep breath. “How are you girly? Want some food?” she responds by rubbing against my ankle and purring loudly. I scoop her up and walk in the direction back home. I didn't get any food, but what could I do? I'll try again later. 

When my legs are tired and olive has evolved to trotting behind me (she was squirming in my arms), I can finally see my home. 

My little brown cottage-like house stands before me. Trees surround it, and smoke rises from the small chimney. Flower beds are planted all around the house—anything from lilies to violets. A large stack of firewood is pressed up against the side of the house. As I approach, I grab a few logs. I'll probably need some more; the fire there has been going since I left, about two hours ago.

I step through my brown wooden door and enter my living room, which is the farthest thing from what I have in front of me. 

The round room is lined with floral wallpaper and actual flowers. Spreading across the walls and huge bouquets of my flowers that I hung. There are three chairs, one dark green velvet armchair, second a long comfortable gray couch, and third, a small wooden chair that I made. On the side of the couch is a little side table with a bright lamp. The floors are also dark and wooden, my rugs mostly cover them. The fireplace across the room is slowly burning out.

I guess the word to describe this room is cozy.

I feed the logs in my hands to the fire and become grateful for the warmth. I shed my layers of clothing and walk to my kitchen to find food for olive.

My kitchen looks so lonely and cold, so much unlike the living room, it makes me shiver a little. Gray light comes through the flower-lined windows, casting a dark shadow over the cold room. I walk to a cabinet and take out a can of cat food. I'm almost out. Again.

Olive is now inside and meows happily when she sees the food in my hand. I pop the can open and lay it on the floor for her. I pet her while she eats; that's her favorite way to eat.

Ever since the beginning of my life, I've been alone. Even when my mom was alive. My mom got pregnant with me at 17. She told me she never knew who my father was, but the look she got in her eyes told me otherwise. I didn't press her though. When I was growing up, she became very sick. She wouldn't go to town to the doctor either. She couldn't even move out of bed. I didn't understand for so long. I took care of her when she couldn't, and for myself, I barely got by. I was around ten when she passed away. I remember that day. 

I had just woken up, and I started to make her breakfast. When I brought it to her, something was different. She was so terribly pale and frail, her blond hair falling out and thinning quickly. She wouldn't eat that day. When I sat next to her, she said:

“Amber… I think today is my day, honey.” her voice cracking and splintering. Her eyes welled up and she grabbed my hand. 

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“In dying amber. Right now.” tears spill down her perfect face, and her hand shakes in mine. 

No. I remember my thoughts. No, how could this happen now? “No. no, please don't go. Please don't leave me. We have to get you a doctor. If we leave now…” 

Her hand on my cheek silences me. And at that moment I knew it was true. My mother was dying. I started to sob, and my mom cried with me. At the end of the day, she was gone.

As I wrapped her in her favorite shawl and carried her outside, I could feel a choking pain in my chest. It wasn't hard to hold her. She barely weighed anything. It was almost like a fever dream, this memory. In between sobs, I would dig a hole deeper and deeper until I could fit my mom perfectly inside it. As I laid her down carefully, I said a quick prayer for her so that she could pass into heaven painlessly. When she was buried under the earth, I made a colossal flower bed right where she lay.

After she was gone, the years weren't much of a struggle. I was already taking care of myself for a while when my mom was sick, so I knew how to live independently. I had money to use to get food at the market. I would pack up a lunch and take a trip there, traveling through the thick woods to get there. It would take a few hours to get to town and back, but it was okay. 

Eventually, I ran out of money. Between buying food, clothing, and everything in between. At first, I used the last of my money to get seeds to plant food. They took a while to grow, so I had to hunt for food. It took a lot of practice, but I got the hang of it. I would find deer often and that would be good for at least a week. 

When my food was finally grown, I became an excellent cook. My mom had this cookbook that she used for literally everything. I learned how to cook, just like she did. 

I got by. I would go to town and sell the food I grew for money. Every once and a while I would go to stores and buy the clothing I desperately needed. All the old things I've either outgrown or have so many holes that they are falling apart.

CLUNK!!

A sudden noise brings me back to reality. Olive's ears perk up and her head whips to the source of the noise. At my door, there was a silhouette of a person. They were shaking the door Handle and trying to get in.

I slowly stand. My heart pounds in my chest. Who could be coming here? I have never had visitors. Ever. I start to approach the door, and as I do so grab a knife off my counter. The person continues to shake the handle and is now knocking on the curtained window. 

I reach out to grab the handle, stopping the shaking. The person freezes, and I turn the handle. I open the door and gasp at what I see.

There is a man. Not a normal man though. He's wearing what looks like a knight's outfit. He has metal armor on, a sword at his side, and even a metal helm on his head. He steps inside when the door is fully open and he sees me.

“Wh-what are you doing? Who are you?” I splutter as he keeps walking toward me. Fear is rising in my thoughts quickly. I take my knife and swipe at him as he continues to pursue me. A metallic laugh drifts to my ears.

He reaches out his gloved hand and grapes my shoulder. His iron grip (literally) stops me from moving completely. He raises his other hand, and I see a syringe. I flail and try to move away but he is too strong. He brings his hand down to my neck and I feel the syringe enter my neck with a piercing pinch.

“No- NO!” I'm struggling more violently. Suddenly, a dull foggy feeling settles over me. My knees turn to jelly; my head feels light and my thoughts are far away.

The knight lets me slide to the floor. I stare into his metal helm, not being able to speak at all. I want to sleep. Just slip right into a series of pleasant dreams. If only I could figure out why I was on my cold floor with a knight holding a syringe in front of me instead of in my bed. My eyes close, and I drift into sleep.