Brewing

No clue yet... Just going off a burst of inspiration. May my fingers, unguided, take me where they will.

I run through the dark, dense jungle, tripping over thick roots and stumbling through patches of wet vines. The storm is almost upon me, and acknowledging this only makes me run faster. I have to get out of here now.

Curse my terrible sense of direction!

I whip out a machete just in time to clear some vegetation that's too dense to just simply run through. But thinking better of this, I take a quick look around me, see a path running perpendicular to the one I was previously on, and quickly run to the right, carefully reattaching the machete to the string slung over my shoulder.

I'm going so fast I'm practically flying, and I suddenly feel like Tarzan. Though I resist the urge to do that little jungle-yelling thing that he does. That would give away my position to some very fortunate predators, both human and nonhuman. But the large jungle cats most likely already know where I'm at. And if they don't, they must be blind, deaf, have no sense of smell, or all three. How a creature would survive like that, though, I should never think anything could.

Minutes later, I can see the edge of the jungle. It's an open field. Seeing this gives me hope and more reason to go on, despite how tired I am.

I'm only yards away. Now just a few feet. A few inches. I stop, realizing this is too easy.

Is it a trap? I look around me. I listen to the jungle, wondering what it has to tell me. Is someone just waiting for me to get out in the open where it'll be easier to capture me? I retreat a little, so now I'm about two feet away from the field, hiding behind some large leaves.

About ten minutes later, with all but a silence surrounding me, I decide it's clear. I inch forward slowly.

Nothing happens.

I take a step into the field and see the blue sky. And something stabs my back, piercing my lungs, my heart. I fall to the Earth. Everything goes cold and numb, and something wet trickles down my back.

The End

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