Splash
Cold lake water dripped down her face, sliding along her cheeks before falling back into the rippling surface.
Her long lashes clung to the droplets, releasing them slowly, one by one. Her eyes, dark as midnight, blinked open, heavy and dazed, their emptiness still echoing the shadows of what she had just seen. Her lips, soft with a faint shade of red, parted as she exhaled a shaky breath.
She had just woken up.
A dream. A nightmare.
It clung to her like a barnacle, its grip refusing to let go. Ragged breathing, the taste of fear, the pounding footsteps closing in, each memory so vivid she could still feel the burn in her legs and the weight pressing down on her chest.
She touched her face, half-expecting to find dirt, sweat, or blood, but there was nothing. Only water. Only the cool breeze brushing her skin.
Her heart wouldn't slow.
Her mind whispered lies that her body believed.
It was only a dream.
She told herself again.
And again.
Yet the images would not fade: the grotesque faces, the rancid stench, the inhuman growls that had crawled through the darkness. She remembered the gunshot, the recoil in her hands, the sound of skull shattering.
They were real, too real.
Her breath caught. She stared at her trembling fingers. The image of herself slipping through the gaps in her hands, staring blankly at her own self.
The lake rippled gently, blurring the images that was reflected, as if mocking her turmoil.
The world was calm. Too calm in fact.
Until suddenly, it wasn't.
Movement.
A sharp sound cut through the silence.
Screech... screech...
The cry of prey caught in a snare.
Her body tensed, instincts igniting.
She surged to her feet and sprinted toward the noise. She cared nothing for how she moved, branches snapped, twigs cracked underfoot.
There was no tact, no grace, no poise. Only urgency.
Survival.
Everything else had been stripped away, left behind in that fleeting dream of peace before the world collapsed.
"Finally!" she cried, her voice raw, echoing against the trees. "A proper meal, thank goodness!"
It had been days since she had stumbled into this place, wandering in circles, unable to recognize even the trees and plants she once knew by heart. The forest was foreign, wrong, as though it belonged to another world.
The lake stretched before her, vast and unbroken, its surface so still it looked like polished glass. Only the faint ripples from her earlier splash disturbed its silence. It was fed, she guessed, by some hidden spring, for the water was unnervingly clear, clear enough to glimpse darting shadows beneath, too quick and shapeless to name.
By her rough estimation, the body of water spanned nearly three kilometers around, a mirror of sky and forest bound together in one endless reflection. During the day, the surface shimmered like liquid silver; at night, it swallowed the moon and scattered the stars across its skin.
Beautiful.
But unnatural.
The longer she looked, the more it unnerved her. Not a single wave rose on its own, not a bird dared skim its surface, and the silence surrounding it felt heavy, expectant, as though the lake was not merely water but a watchful eye.
There were certainly fish living within it, their scales flickering like distant sparks when the sun struck just right, but without proper tools, catching one was close to impossible.
So she endured. Days of meager survival on bitter wild berries, her body growing weaker, slimmer, marked by fatigue and hunger.
But at last, luck had shifted.
One of her traps had caught something.
A rabbit. Small, trembling, but real.
Food.
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, her first in days.
...
On the side, she picked up a stick, sturdy, solid enough to deliver the final blow. A simple precaution. It would be cruel to let the creature suffer, or worse, to let it slip free.
"Stay still," she whispered, her voice low, almost gentle, as though the rabbit could understand.
Plack
A single strike to the skull. One clean tap, and it was over.
The forest was quiet again.
She crouched, working quickly. With practiced hands she loosened the snare, freeing the limp body. The rabbit dangled for a moment before she strapped it to her side, the weight small but strangely comforting. Then, without hesitation, she reset the trap, her fingers moving with urgency, habit born of hunger.
Time was her enemy. Meat spoiled fast, and she could not afford to waste what little fortune had come her way. Kneeling in the dirt, she drew the blade she carried and set to work, skinning the rabbit, pulling free the entrails with steady efficiency. Her motions were sharp, economical, almost ritualistic.
The metallic tang of blood filled the air, strong and raw, mingling with the damp scent of earth. She did not flinch. Survival allowed no space for delicacy.
For a while, she thought of nothing else. Not the dream. Not the lake. Not the shadows that clung stubbornly to her mind.
There was only the rabbit.
Only food.
She had to eat.
She had to regain her strength.
And yet, as she worked, the world seemed to hold its breath. The forest was too quiet. The lake behind her too still.
Something gnawed at the back of her mind, but she pushed it down, focusing on the meal before her.
For now, she told herself, nothing else mattered.
Or is there.