Thrillers Part 1

A cool breeze pushed the humid afternoon air through the evergreens that towered over the forest floor. The force of the imposing wind caught the needled branches causing them to sway and groan in a cacophony of pops and cracks. Loosed dewdrops fell from above creating a symphonic patter that murmured across the ground.

A cool breeze pushed the humid afternoon air through the evergreens that towered over the forest floor. The force of the imposing wind caught the needled branches causing them to sway and groan in a cacophony of pops and cracks. Loosed dewdrops fell from above creating a symphonic patter that murmured across the ground.

Don Miller opened his eyes as another gust of wind hissed through the dense trees that framed the cloud-speckled sky above. He inhaled deeply, but recoiled as the afternoon air passed through his nostrils. Completely unprepared for what he was seeing, Miller tried to roll onto his side, but his body was slow to respond. He felt as though he were suffering from a major hangover. Even still, he was elated to be out in the open and away from that hell he had suffered.

As Miller rubbed the sleep from his eyes, an all too familiar sensation of fear swept over him. Where am I? What the hell happened to me? He allowed his eyes to wander the surrounding trees as his mind overflowed with questions.

Eager to get to his feet, he pushed his body until he was upright. Managing a quick inspection of his person, Miller realized that he was wearing his own clothing, which consisted of a tan t-shirt, blue jeans, and an Army green cotton jacket. He was no longer dressed in the white scrubs that he had been made to wear while locked in his cell at the facility. The blond man had promised him death, yet here he was, standing in the middle of the forest and very much alive.

With a furrowed brow, Don Miller ran his hand over his unshaven face. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the daylight, he began again to inspect his surroundings. He was sitting in the middle of a clearing that seemed, in his estimation, roughly the size of a city overpass. This comparison seemed to work for him.

The past couple of years had been rough on him and there were more than a few city overpasses that Don Miller had called home. He was familiar with the size. That, however, was the past. Now, after all he had been put through and overcome, Miller knew that he would never let himself slip idly into self-pity's dangerous current again.

Those faces without names that came and went from his hellish cell had unknowingly changed Don Miller. Standing in the forest, no longer bound to a bed, he had a new outlook on life. Somehow he had been saved from the parapet of death.

The End

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