The Footprints Part One
I was walking in the snow, but I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten into the darkened woods through which I was now trudging. I could hear the crunching sound my boots made as I walked through the wintery spectacle. Ice hung from the strong branches of the trees. I felt a trickle of something running down my face. Sweat? I thought to myself. I wiped it away, but looking down at my hand, the liquid pouring down my face was red. Blood! I thought. I stopped and touched the open wound on my head; it didn’t hurt. Probably a combination of this cold air and the shock, I thought.
I walked on, hoping to find someone who might be able to tell me where I was or how I got here with this wound on my head. I tried to ignore all the noises coming from the nightly forest, but it filled me with terror. I tried to rationalize the noises — just animals, I thought. But even that thought scared me. Suddenly, something tripped me, and I fell face-first into the icy snow. I was tangled in the branches that tripped me. I turned to free my feet from them when I noticed something strange. There were no footprints in the direction from where I’d just come. “What the hell?” I muttered.
I got up and walked a little farther. I was hearing the crunching of the snow, wasn’t I? Then I looked down to see if there were any footprints coming from the other direction but found nothing. I looked down at my feet and the snow. My breathing had become more rapid. I was afraid. I could hear my own labored breathing. And for the first time, a chill ran through me. I started to run; I ran as fast as I could through the forest. I stopped, breathing hard now. I turned around, scared to look but knowing I had to. “Nothing,” I whispered.