#pwstarter

 x    Inspired: getting lost in a corn maze and whoops wow, we lost track of time and it’s                                                           pitch black outside and i’m really fucking scared.

               Preston found himself hanging out with some of the only friends he felt comfortable hanging around, though he was hesitant, he agreed, it was Halloween, after all. He could always go back to writing new music after, or the next day. Throughout the night Preston met his limit but seeing as he got a ride to the place he couldn’t leave unless he got a car service to pick him up and hear it from his friends for a week. He excused himself instead, wandering the Halloween themed riddled carnival grounds to breathe. Preston found himself in line for a “haunted” corn maze. Listening to the instructor talk about how it was the biggest in the state... how everyone entering should be sure to follow the path or they’d get lost. He made a note of that line, follow the path or you’ll get lost, but he would change it to signs instead of path... It’d be a great line for a song.

Nala’s right foot searched for the first sturdy limb closest to the ground and hoisted her weight upwards with a grunt. She continued with surprising efficiency, carrying her balance from one leg to the other, until she was ten or fifteen feet above ground. As Nala turned to sit upon the branch she had just reached, she felt a searing pain slash across her left palm. “Ah, damn!” She flipped her palm upwards just in time to watch a violent red seep into the newly formed pale gash that started below her pinky finger and ended abruptly two inches from her thumb. “Shit.” She swung her backpack around to her lap and clenched it between her knees, scrambling blindly through its interior with her better hand for first aid supplies. Her fingers recognized the spongey feel of gauze, and she quickly pulled out the roll and wrapped it around her left hand. “What on earth could’ve gashed me like that....” And suddenly it hit her. One of the freshmen girls at school had been smacking her gum while rattling on about some old legend that had been passed around for what, like, decades now? Something about a special tree with really sharp leaves...”Oh right, the Suerton tree! That’s it.” Without thinking, she must have brushed her left palm against one of the leave’s flesh-cutting ridges. Not wanting to abandon any chances of receiving the good-luck that was supposed to accompany ownership of the leaf that gave the cut, Nala cautiously pocketed the blade using a sweatshirt sleeve-covered hand. As soon as the leaf was secured inside the makeshift vessel also known as Nala’s sweatpants pocket, panic began to trickle into the pit of her stomach; if Nala reached the top of the tree with one injury, could she reach the bottom without acquiring additional cuts? “Ah...damn.”  She was stuck.

“Hey, which one should I buy?”