Red Mist

Running

Branches snapped back, the wind howled as the eight year old girl ran desperately through the trees, cuts running down her pale arm.
"Stop it!" she shouted, still running. Someone was behind her, her senses were telling her. Her senses were always right. "Stop it now!" Her pursuer stopped suddenly and curiosity got the better of her. Swinging round, she saw the pale figure staring at her.
"Who are you?" she asked the boy, staring at her. His hair was fair and ruffled. His eyes were blue and shining. His smile was crooked and wonky.
"Did I scare you?" he grinned.
"No."
"I did. You were shouting," he insisted.
"No you didn't. Go away."
"But I want to be your friend."
"I don't want to be yours."
"Aw shucks, that's too bad."
"Leave me alone." Liesel said and started running again. But he reached out and grabbed her arm. Liesel didn't like this. She thrashed out and saw the boy withdraw his arm and nurse it.
"I'm going now so don't follow me. My senses can tell if you are and I will get Quane to make you leave me alone."
"Who?"
"He's a soldier."
"My dad is."
Liesel cursed herself for letting that small sign of pity slip through her eyes.
"Not my problem," she said quickly and instantly regretted it. He scowled at her and turned around to hide his sorrow.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"You really don't know how to make friends do you?" he spat and stomped off. Liesel, biting her lip turned around and continued walking.

It was soon dark and her legs ached. Her throat was sore and she would occasionally whimper when all the blood pressure ran to her foot. She staggered and twisted strangely, trying to keep her balance in walking but her head was hurting badly. Something rustled quietly in the wind and she spun around to see what. It started again but this time, from behind her. Again, she twisted her head over her shoulder to see what was causing it. She missed her footing and tripped down a hill, rolling in leaves and mud. Her knee bashed against her chin and she tried to feel for the blood but she was traveling to fast. She reached the bottom with a shriek and felt fresh blood by her tooth. Her leg wouldn't respond to what her brain was begging to do, stand up and walk on. She clutched a small branch and pulled herself up with this, straining her leg muscles. Leaning against the tree for support, she gently massaged her vitiated leg until the pain dulled. She pulled herself forward and pulled herself up into the tree. Slowly, she crept up and sat herself in a perched position with a birds-eye view. She could see the fire, still resisting aborting attempts to be smothered. She could smell the smoke, rising gently into the air. She could feel the soft wind whipping her hair into her face. She could hear gunshots and more anguished, pained screams. She blocked her ears and squeezed her eyes shut so she didn't have to face anymore of the death. She had to keep going. She had to  keep running.