Jesus, really? Part 7? This is what I get for writing an organic story, and not doing just flash fiction like I planned. I promise as soon as this one is done, I'll start doing quicker and catchier things. I don't know who I am promising this too. Myself?
Lisa chewed a handful of nuts and dried fruit, raisins and were they apricots?, as her ill-fitted boots crunched a pattern on the freshly fallen snow. A few flakes still fell, and she stopped to catch a few on her tongue. Snow seemed wonderful and even perfect. It's white dandruff surrounding her as she approached the overhang of the canopy. The trees were, well she didn't know what kind of trees they were. They were tall and thin, that was certain, and green still so must be some kind of evergreen. The word deciduous rose like a cork to the op of her mind, but she had a feeling it was wrong.
Her mind was oddly still, and she wondered why she wasn't more worried. Where was her anxiety? She only felt wonderment, not a horrible feeling at all, but surprising.
The tree cast shadows over her skin, dappling her, reminding her of the forest she entered what seemed like days ago when she ran from her mother. How dumb she had been, in retrospect, to run into an unknown wilderness. She was likely lying on the ground, in a comma, and this was her dream. She was actually waiting on an ambulance, her mother kneeling next her body, crying, feeling ashamed. It was a nice picture though she wasn't sure about her mother's emotions being that apologetic.
She considered her mother's actions, trying to will some form of honest emotion came, and then heard a snap two feet from her. She turned quickly to see an arrow protruding from a nearby tree. Lisa's hammer slipped into her hand without her noticing and she began to sprint adrenaline carrying her through the woods. Who the hell was shooting at her?
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