Chapter 1 - The Well (version 2)
Thank you to those who gave feedback on my first draft like @reggiereadss
I'm sorry I vanished for a bit, a lot of life stuff happened and I couldn't work on my writing for a while. I've fixed up the first chapter so that I can hopefully start focusing more on the next one :)
(TW: +18, violence, attempted SA)
"Corra!" his voice tore, traveling up the hill from thick woods behind me. I can't see anything in the dusk, but the sounds of Steven screaming my name and crashing through vegetation were definitely getting closer. When I'd started going out with it was just meant to be a few months of fun before college. Now, I'm running for my life towards what I thought was a building, regrettably realizing it's just an old well sitting solitarily in an elaborate, overgrown garden. The sounds of distant thunder, Steven thrashing through bushes, and my own heart beat are all mixing together in my ears. The out of tempo trio causing my mind to fumble around on what to do next.
Where the hell is a Super when you actually need one? The news is chock-full of stories praising Heroes like Mr. Tecton or The Blazing Duo saving cities all over the world. Those feel good stories are nice and all, but where were the Heroes over the years as bands of Villain groups decimated small towns around the globe like mine.
Cities have become a safe haven for the masses, that whole concept of safety in numbers I guess. Local governments can't cough up the same amount of money to pay Heroes like major cities can. So I don't bother screaming out for help, not even Dr. Resonance would be able to hear me in the depths of this forest.
My best friend Gretta and I grew up running around in these woods, so I've been able to get Steven off my tail. I haven't slowed down though, the howls in the distance of an animalistic man are triggering levels of adrenaline I've never felt before. It's gotten so dark out and I've been so panicked I've gotten myself lost running deeper into the forest than I ever have before.
Looking around the unkempt flowers and unfamiliar trees surrounding the clearing, my mind quickly settled on the only logical thing to do. I can't keep running or else I'm going to exhaust myself. Steven revealed he'd had powers this whole time when a giant boulder flew past my head while fleeing from him. I may be a star athlete, but a mortal's endurance could never compete with a Super.
Sitting ceremoniously in the center of the overgrowth is the large stone well I mistook for a building. It sticks out like a sore thumb within the unkemptness. Its stone sparklingly polished, bright green fluffy moss, and delicate moths floating about lazily. The whole scene is like a painting, an airbrushed dreaminess against a forgotten grove. My Mary Janes clack against the stones as I approach the old, beautiful structure.
I tug at the rope attached to the crank at the top, a splintering wooden bucket dancing over the dark abyss below. Though it's probably decades old, the workings seems strong enough. It may be unsound faith to think it'll hold more weight than a bucket full of water, but what other choice do I have at this point?
I'm pulling up the dry rotted bucket as I realize there is a missing member to the trio of chaos roaring in my ears. The rain drops accumulating on my shaking shoulders tell me I'm almost out of time. He's caught my trail somehow, quieted as to not scare his prey. The aged wood breaks away easily from the cord and I toss the bucket into the bushes. Body violently vibrating, yet fingers laser focused from years of dad's training as I tie the tether to my waist. When mom left when I was 5 I spent most of my time on dad's fishing boat. I've been tying bowline knots before I could even spell it.
I give the jury-rigged harness secured to around my core a few strong tugs to ensure it's fast, then slide my legs over the side of the well, feet hovering over the deep darkness. I wrap the cord above me around my arm, and hold the spooled up remainder in the other. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath in, forcing my stiffening shoulders down as I exhale slowly. I say a small prayer that I don't snap this rig up.
I take one last look down the hill to see the brush parting. Not wanting to stick around to see who I know it is, I push my body forward, cold stone releasing from under me, and I fall into the abyss.
Miraculously my weight holds. I loosen some of my grip on the tether, allowing my body to rapidly drop further into the hole. The night sky fades out of view as I hit the end of the line, my body swaying softly side to side. The thunder coming from above is smothered out by the pounding of my heart in my ears. Each loud thump projecting from my eardrums, bouncing off the stone walls, and reverberating back into them. The lightning crashing above adds to the fear raking my body, I never truly outgrew the terror I'd feel during a storm.
My vice grip is fueled by the dread of causing pain for my father. That saddened look of loss and abandonment in his eyes whenever I asked about where mom was. The years of depression I had to help dig him out of. There'd be no one to save him from grief if I die here. Each finger is burning with love and alarm.
I can hear distant sounds from above of Steven's anger devolving into frustration, probably because he's lost my trail again. The snapping sounds of breaking branches and ripping of shrubbery rain from above. The raging carnage gradually quiets, and I think he's finally tired himself out or hopefully given up.
But then comes the distinct sound of rotten wood hitting the stone walls above me and my stomach drops to the bottom of this well. I forgot about that old bucket, stupidly thrown on top of the bushes directly next to my hiding place. I was so panicked I forgot to clean up my tracks. The old bucket shatters against my skull and my grip fails on the splintering rope.
My vision blurs, body swaying in the cavern as my weakening hands fumble for traction again, the coarse fibers piercing into my skin. My shoes meet the wall and for a moment it's like I'm on solid ground again. My body facing towards the top of the well, its walls acting as my floor. I see him now, black form against the darkening night. The cold of the stone seeps through the bottom of shoes, spreading up to my shoulders, down into my fingers.
He doesn't say anything, no longer raging above, but a perfectly white smile seeps through the silhouette, reflecting its way all the way down to me. I can't see the knife in his hand, but the vibrations through my tether to survival cause the hold I'd regained on the tremors in my body to lose control.
I finally find my voice, but all I can croak out is, "no, please". I feel one of the strands break, my voice growing louder, hopeless panic weaving through the repeated desperate pleas to stop. I try to gain some sort of grip on the slick walls, nail polish tipping off as I scratch at the stones, but my body is swinging around in the darkness.
Another strand snaps, the last one fraying up the line to the teeth of his knife. I'm just seconds away from falling to my death, but all I can think of right now is how nobody will ever find my body at the bottom of this well. I'll fall to my death, never to be heard of again. I snuck out to meet this guy, leaving my phone behind at Gretta's graduation party so my helicopter dad couldn't track me going out to the woods with Steven.
What was supposed to be a fun evening of celebrating going away to college and saying goodbye to each other quickly turned into the literal death of me. I thought we were just going to star gaze and make out like we normally do when I'd sneak out to meet him. When I stopped him from putting his hand down my pants, I didn't expect him to get so angry. He abruptly burst into an angry rant about how much of a tease I am, how I never gave him anything other than blue balls. I'd got up and started to walk away from him, but unfortunately that's what lead to this.
The final snap, weather it came from his knife or the weight of my body on the last strand, it doesn't matter now. My body is falling. The silhouetted figure dropping away into a small pinhole of darkening light. I don't recognize the scream coming from my lungs.
People say when you die you see flashes of your memories, but as I'm falling to my death visions of what my future was supposed to be are flying past me out of view. Gretta and I moving into our dorm at Maxville University in a few months. Taking over the family business for my dad so he can spend his retirement worry free. My life was just starting.
The stone is moving so fast around me, but no light reaches its surface, all I can hear is the air rushing past me. My arm slams into jagged stone, my scream filled with not just fright but agony now. The collision causes my body to tumble through the air. Limbs, back, head, slamming into spiking rocks, a windchime of breaking bones echoes off the walls. I'm a pin cushion of rocks, warm blood trickling from the puncturing stones, red rain drops flying off my skin.
I must be about to cross over. Bright light is coming from where I'm falling to. Shimmers of iridescent light fly past lining the tunnel, streaking lines of light exponentially growing around me. Another rock lodges into my palm, this time boiling heat spreads from the wound and up my arm. I'm shrieking at this point, my screams sounding more like a wounded animal rather than a girl facing death.
Another strange burning crystal slams into my spine, searing hot pain spreading across my back like spreading wings. A third crystal slashes across my nose and down my cheek, the heat that splinters causes my eyes to snap shut in pain. My body tries to scream from the suffering, but my voice is just a measly whimper, that of a baby chick fallen from the nest.
I hit the ground hard, my ears registering the sounds of my bones breaking against the crystal ridden bedrock before blacking out.
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