pre-April Flash challenge #5 & #6

Prompts: it was like a fine mist of champagne to walk through, a brick wall, the book was opened – silverstar46
 
The fog rolled in early today, painting the world with a lingering haze and lighting up the world with an incandescent glow. It carried a tinge of sweetness. It was like a fine mist of champagne to walk through, the taste lingering on your tongue long after you had entered a building or secluded area that lent no room for fogging. It was a ghost mist, one that left you warm, not chilled. One that left you longing with the memory of dreams, one that kept you reaching. Heavy with promise. I stumbled, meandering and aimless down these empty streets, long after midnight, watching the curl of fine smoke from my cigar joining the fog and mixing with it like a dance, tendrils coiling together then uncoiling like the length of an undulating snake – some wild creature. It was a wild night. The book was opened in the middle, the creation of this story. I had carefully plotted out the beginnings, keeping cautious record, but had long since thrown caution to the wind, spreading my arms out like these ruffled pages and allowing whatever to come what may. A brick wall stopped me dead in my tracks. I wondered, briefly if it was a mental trick – a magic lingering by perception – no. It was an actual brick wall, placed in the middle of a narrow, empty corridor for seemingly no reason whatsoever. What was this doing here? I looked behind me, down the road I had traveled, less trodden or not. I frowned in confusion, not recognizing the world behind me and noticing for a first time the mirror spread out at the end of the long, tangled hallway. I stared at my own reflection for a time, far away and distant. I raised my hand in greeting. My reflection did not wave back. Funny, that. I turned away from the wall for a moment, taking a few casual steps back the way I had come. You can’t go back the voice in my head told me. “of course I can” I answered, aloud. This was not a good sign, was it? Verbally answering the voices in your head. Arguing with them over semantics of possibilities. My feet were moving slowly, tracing a backwards path down the hall. When I encountered my first resistance, I stopped. Internal. But I looked down and noticed then the vines tangled around my feet. This is why you can’t go back. You can never go back. The voice was louder now. More insistent. I frowned, bending down to untangle the knots around my ankles like misplaced shoe laces, finding them more difficult than I thought. Persistent and sticky. I frowned in concentration now – concentration, consternation. Something. As I removed the vines from my feet, more appeared, wrapping around my hands, cutting slowly into the skin. This was unacceptable. My mirror reflection, which I was quickly realizing was not a reflection at all was standing there, legs spread open, arms crossed, glaring. I didn’t find it helpful, or very nice. When I finally untangled myself from the vines, and no new ones saw fit to take their place, I backed slowly toward the brick wall, looking carefully for new signs of danger. 
 
Thunk
 
That was the sound of my head hitting brick. It’s funny that I remembered the sound, but since it was so much a part of my head, I guess it made sense. The wall was much closer than it had been. Much closer than it should have been.
 
I realized in that moment that when you try to go back, your progress is even more impeded. That the only way to make it forward is to let go. I laughed, my hands tracing over the rough-hewn brick until I found the opening I was looking for. I scaled the wall that seemed much higher than it really was, knowing that at least for now, I had learned my lesson well. As I vaulted over the top, I licked my lips and tasted that still champagne sweet. It was time to go forward.
 
 
 

 
 
Prompts:  high rubber boots, rabbits and pheasants, pawprints in the snow – amygdale
 
He stomped at the entrance to the cabin, his high rubber boots vibrating the mat and the underlying ground. Muttering curses under his breath like the surly ex-marine he was, he brushed the snow off his heavy coat before stomping through the tiny living room toward the kitchen. I always knew when he was home – the whole floor rumbled when he walked. He bellowed for me. I rolled my eyes, carefully tucking the book back under the loose floorboard I had made a small hole for my treasures in, knowing if he ever found them, it would be the end of me.
 
“Where is ya” he grumbled, plopping his big, sturdy frame into a much less sturdy wooden chair, which uttered what sounded like a groan in protest.
 
“coming” I said softly. I didn’t know if he heard me. I didn’t care. I arrived in the kitchen just in time for him to swing a pile of bloody, nearly unrecognizable carcasses on the table. 
 
“rabbits and pheasants” he said, as if presenting me with a Michelangelo-esq work of art. I blinked, staring dumbly at what surely recently had been live animals. At least they weren’t caged somewhere, sitting alone in the dark when they should be running free in the wild. “you’ll cook ‘em. Then we can eat”. I folded my arms, disgusted.
 
“I’m not eating that. Nor am I touching it” Maybe if I made him angry, just really angry…
 
He was on his feet in a flash, almost before I had time to retreat a step before realizing my escape was blocked by the tiny kitchen counter that I was now backed up against as he came toward me, in his big, lumbering ox-like way. “you’ll do what you’re told, lil miss” he growled. Though my hands and legs were shaking, my eyes still glittered, defiant. 
 
“no”. It was enough. He grabbed me by the hair and swung me around the room. I landed on the kitchen table with all the force of a stampeding rhinoceros and it shattered beneath my weight. A long, deadly splinter forced its way through the palm of my hand, and I bit my lip not to scream. He lifted me by the threadbare shirt, hauling me to my uncertain feet before dragging me across the room.
 
“that’s the last time you say no to me. Ever. You can go out. Stay out. Out there. With them” I was tossed out onto the snow, my blood leaving a crimson streak on the pristinely white surface. Finally. The door slammed behind me. I had to make this time count. I picked myself up and bolted. I felt like a deer in the sites of a hunter. Stalked. I knew his anger would be brief, and then he’d come after me. He always did. I avoided the many traps and snares along the trail, knowing that he had full confidence that they would catch me – that one of them would trip me up. I had gotten smarter in my 12 years of captivity. I think the Oaf had gotten dumber. Sure enough, not a moment after I had passed the first milestone – the gentle cresting of an icy hill, I heard the crash of the door being flung open, and footsteps crashing through the ice in my direction. I looked down, dismayed at my own stupidity. Footprints. I ran then, like my legs were on fire and the ice proved an ally – I could expend only half the energy necessary and slide the rest of the way, like rollerskating without the skates. Where was that clearing….where did he put the
 
“oh” the word was out of my mouth, hanging on the frigid air before I realized I had spoken. I had nearly stepped on it. I forgot that I moved it somewhere new the last time I had a forced escape attempt. That time I failed. I had almost stepped right on it. That would not be good. Not good at all. I could hear lumbering in the thick, heavy wood behind me. He was coming up fast, and I knew I had to hide – but still give him a target to make him come this way. I smeared more blood in the snow, make him think I had fallen – make him think anything. Make him come this way. Like a rumbling steamroller, he broke through the woods into the clearing. He really was like a bull in a candy shop – and he saw me. He was lumbering this way. Just a little further…over to the left. I hopped on one foot and stood waiting, swaying slowly from feigned weakness, and real blood loss. And there. SNAP. Caught in the twisted, angry teeth of his own bear trap, he collapsed into a screaming pile on the ground. I felt my face curl into a smile, looking down at him. I wanted to say something. Wanted to make sure this moment was meaningful, and well understood. “I finally caught my first animal” I spit, my voice as bitter as the winter wind. 
 
“help me” he cried, his limbs flailing around, only driving the wickedly sharp, poisoned barbs deeper. 
 
“but I am” I whispered. I am showing you every bit of mercy and kindness that you have bestowed on others.” I turned my back on him, and picked my way across the clearing, following the crystalline diamond-like frozen river. In time, his howls faded in the background. I was following pawprints in the snow, no matter where they lead. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere called home.
 

 
 
New promps: 
Ride the lightning
Life, uncensored
Like the cocoon awakening