Re: Hunt; deep in the woods
The dead-thing wheezed out a hoarse sort of laughter, laughing at him, and the boy’s bright eyes narrowed deliberately. Around his mouth there formed a stubborn scowl, upper lip curling into a twisted sneer. “No,” he spat out into the darkness that hovered between them, violence and volatility wrapped up in one. He didn’t care that this monster-dead-thing formed the most unnatural contortions with his neck, nor that it mocked him – he cared only for the clarity that any little boy sought when his bravery and his size were questioned. “I’m a boy. And I am strong.”
He told me so.
“I know how to fight,” the boy went on, his voice taking on a reproachful, dangerous tone as his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to scream in the face of this man with the dark-ink skin and the unnatural grin. Wanted to punch and hit and kick and bite until he drew blood. He’d show him. He’d show them all. “And I’m not scared. I’m not. You don’t scare me. You’re a monster, and monsters aren’t real.”
The little boy took a step closer then, all bravado and ferocity. His eyes flashed through the darkness that threatened to swallow the both of them, but for the first time he took no notice. Instead he focused on the monster-man, his small, crooked teeth bared in anger. “I got here by running. The bad men, they’re chasing me. I’m good at running… Are you a bad man?”