I LOVE DARK YA BLOGFEST - NEARLY HOME

Kelley York, Heather McCorkle, Christa Desir, and E.R. King of YAtopia are hosting a month-long blogfest in November for anyone who loves their YA books on the darkside. 


I loved writing a piece of dark Flash Fiction for this Blogfest.

WEEK 2:

November 9th: Write a 500-word or less flash fiction piece inspired by this picture:

                                NEARLY HOME


When she stumbled through the woodland, Freya’s dress snagged on trailing brambles and thorn bushes. The space seemed huge and her ignorance sickened her as it slowed her. Freya pressed her hands against her sockets to protect her sensitive eyes. She bit her lip and snaked a foot forward. She trod on twigs more substantial than her fine-boned frame - had no more strength than those dried fingers of wood. She took another step when she’d controlled the shivers that ran through her. 

Insensitive, the wind almost achieved what her imprisonment had failed to do: Freya swayed when the breeze cut through the fine dress; it almost blew her determination away with it. She pulled her elbows closer to her chest to shield herself. There would never be another opportunity to escape. Slowly, she made painful progress from that hell. Freya was afraid. She didn’t know what might be ahead but she was more afraid of who she'd left behind.

Except for her own slow paces, there were no other footsteps.  He, the deep voice that sneered and laughed in the darkness, had told her she was weak. The bucket she’d lashed out with said he’d lied.

It wasn’t something seen or heard, Freya felt the darkening around her.

“ Who’s there?” she whispered. Unable to see, she lifted her chin, tilted her head. She strained to understand the faint noises until pain spasmed in her neck and aches raked inside her throat. Soft sounds, the steps and scrapes, although they were more quiet than her own footsteps they alarmed her.  

“Show me where you are!” his voice hissed. 

Freya dropped to her knees and swallowed her breath. What could he see? What did he know? She could wait and hope but what good would that do for her. She crawled. Under her palms and knees, the shells and nuts, the thorns and vines that dug into her were agony. Agony and hope. The dawn had brightened and, without protection, it seemed to Freya that she crawled into a golden ball of pain. But, the sun rose and bathed the front of her house with that kind of glow and beech trees grew in the woods there. Ignoring the seeping damp that glued decomposing shards of leaves to her hands and knees, Freya was fuelled by the hope that she was heading home.

Opening her eyes to slits, she recognised the house in the distance. She sobbed and pushed herself up until she stumbled forward. She staggered. Rebounding from tree to tree her arms bruised and bleeding, her foot slipped in soft mud. With a shake of her head and gulp of air Freya tried to stand again. Her dress ripped, she couldn't tear it free. She searched, hands seeking for the branch that trapped her.

With knee on her back, he pinned her. "Did you think I'd let you go?" He laughed as he caressed her throat, "Let's go home, honey. You don’t want to be there. You’re mine."

I'm enjoying writing this November. 

ARE YOU MEETING YOUR WRITING CHALLENGE?