The dangers of smoking

I can't help but think this cliché, but the imagery has been in my head for a while. The title, though, I find hilarious. I nearly called it Frozen Food. *laugh*

-------------

She opened her eyes and the world slowly came into focus. Tree roots. Soft earth. Grass. She was uncomfortable, face down in the dirt. What the hell... Last she remembered... What WAS the last she remembered??

Her head hurt. Had she bumped it? She must have...

Awkwardly, she tried to sit up. She groaned softly - muscles stiff with cold. She focused on the ground, blinking slowly till the world stopped spinning. God, please stop the carousel. I want to get off!

A bus. She had been on a bus. She'd been on the way home. A pitstop! Someone had been sick, and the driver had pulled into a truck stand. She'd gone off to the side for a quick cigarette. What had it been, 3 more hours till her stop? She remembered thinking something like that. What the hell happened after that?

She patted her jeans. No phone. Damn. What time was it? She had stopped wearing watches a long time ago. Looking up at the sky was a mistake. The world started spinning again, and she had to refocus on the ground, choking back the need to be sick. Baby steps. Take it slow.

She tried again. Roots, trunk, branches, leaves, sky. It was getting dark. Sundown soon, she guessed. No idea, really. In the city, no one really sees the sun setting. Ambient lighting makes it difficult to pinpoint when the sun moves on and the streetlights take over. No such problem here, she thought, looking around at the trees. No artificial anything in sight. She was in some forest or something. I think. Maybe.

Better move her arse then. The woods at night didn't sound appealing. Where was she??

"Hello? Anyone there?"

The silence was deafening.
She suddenly felt very alone.

"Hello? Anybody?"

Something was wrong - more wrong than waking up, sick to her stomach, face down in a forest. She couldn't put her finger on it though...

Right. Stand up. Slowly...

She didn't appear to be hurt. Other than the dull ache at the back of her head, she grimaced, gingerly prodding her skull. No blood, no wounds. That was good, wasn't it?

No sounds of traffic. Which way was the road?
No sounds of people talking... No sound at all, really.

She froze.

No sound at all. No birds, no insects, no babbling brook... That was it! How could it be completely silent?? Something was seriously wrong. Where was she?? She braced herself against the tree. Moss grows on the... North side? Isn't that what they say?

"Wasting time," she muttered. She didn't know jack squat about life outside the city. Which train to take to the business district? No problem. Which berry was safe to eat? No freaking idea.

Right. She was going right. Just because.

She grabbed a longish twig off the ground & slashed at the tree. Wouldn't do to go round in circles. She started picking her way gingerly, navigating tree roots and noisily beating at the long grass to scare off snakes and the like, before stepping forward. Every now and again, she'd mark a tree.

"Hello? Can anybody hear me?"

It wasn't long before it started getting dark enough to force a decision. Option 1, seek shelter. Option 2, keep moving and risk breaking a limb. She probably shouldn't have moved in the first place. Too late now, Einstein.

Jeans and jumper in the woods? She didn't think she was going to be warm enough. What could she..

She froze.

What was that?

She could have sworn... A blur in her peripheral vision.

"Hello?" she wished she didn't sound as shaky as she felt. "Who's there?"

Her own pounding heartbeat was the only thing she could hear. She gripped the branch till her knuckles were white.

"Don't fucking mess with me," God, I wish I sounded bigger.

Nothing.

Right. Back to a tree, get a fire going, I'll be fine. She kept repeating that as she pushed at the ground cover, looking for dry twigs & leaves. Damn she really should have started this earlier.

In the end she just kicked whatever she could towards the base of the tree. It was getting too dark to tell dry leaves from wet ones. That God she had a lighter.

After a while, and a billion false starts, she abandoned all hope of starting a fire.

I am in some Serious Shit.

She stuffed leaves down the front of her jumper, trying not to think of how many bums were found dead in parks, having stuffed newspapers down their coats in an effort to keep warm.

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. She watched the vaguely grey trail of smoke as it wafted upwards from her lips. She stared at the lazy glow of the lit end. She was going to be alright. Somehow.

The cigarette suddenly went out.

She froze. Cigarettes don't just do that.

She relit the cigarette. Her hand was shaking. She exhaled, staring hard at the tip, almost daring it to go out.

Something touched her hair.

She started and screamed, scrambling away in the opposite direction, on all fours.

"Who's there?? What do you want??"

Nothing.

Her heart was pounding in her ears again, and she realized she was crying.

"Who are you??" she screamed, nearly sobbing now. "Why are you doing this to me??"

Then she heard it. It was little more than a whisper in her ear, so close she could almost feel the breath on her neck.

"Run."

Scared half out of her mind, she scrambled blindly to her feet and ran, tripping over roots and bursting through bushes. She could hear her ragged breaths punctuating the rustle of leaves as she tore her way forward. It was so dark - she couldn't see - she kept stumbling, grabbing at whatever was at arm's length to break her fall. It had to happen. She fell that last time, and felt her ankle buckle sickeningly.

She couldn't catch her breath, chest heaving from sobs, surrounded by the dark, ankle throbbing madly.

"Now now... You know better than that... Don't play with your food."

It was little more than a whisper.

"Yes, mother."

A whisper.

She opened her mouth to scream.