The Hunt
Fighting my way out of the dense jungle for what seemed like years, I began to lose my sense. Through gritted teeth, I find myself muttering: "I must keep my nerve.. I must keep my nerve," while running away from the chateau where I came. Running, from the bloodthirsty General Zaroff. Ever since I left those doors to play a "Game of Hunting," my mind had wandered aimlessly. I first had concocted a plan: Get the hell away from the General; as far away as possible. Spurred on also by panic, I fled into the jungle, running until I was sore.
As I ran, I came to a sudden stop. I had just gotten hold of my common sense, and wondered over my actions that I was currently doing, and also of the dilemma at hand. Finding my bearings, I quickly realized that I would be nearing the edge of a cliff that plunged into the sea. I had to think of something, and fast. Anything to get me away from Zaroff, and my current location.
I then crafted a new plan: Create a false trail, then erase any trace of my tracks leading to my true location, to throw him off. I began wandering the jungle, weaving intricate paths throughout part of the jungle. Night was falling fast, and I was completely exhausted. I had to find a resting place, as my legs were sore from running; my body covered in scrapes and bruises. Covering my tracks, I scouted for a place to rest.
I had discovered a place just before sunset; a large, tall tree. The tree had a wide trunk, and thick branches. I shimmied up the tree, paying extra mind not to leave any marks on the trunk, or break any branches, lest I be found. Climbing far above ground, I finally rested upon one of the upper boughs of the tree; a broad limb that supported my weight. Trying to get more comfortable, I rested my back against the trunk of the tree, then stretched my legs along the massive branch, hoping to gain just a little bit of rest. Being up here, I felt a sense of security and comfort up high in the trees comforting boughs. Zaroff would never venture out in the dead of night, in the jungle, in pursuit of my tracks (much less my location, for that matter)... Or, would he?
As the night faded and dragged on, I was restless; all was silent. Wearily, I looked up to the sky through a chink in the swaying branches. It appeared to be early morning, for the sky was a pale, dismal grey. Suddenly, the sound of a startled bird cried out and flew past me, toward my right, along with the sound of crunching footsteps. Heart pounding, I turned to the direction of the sound, the sound catching my attention. As I peered through the tapestry of leaves surrounding me, I find something; rather, someone, approach the tree where I was hidden. General Zaroff.
My breath caught in my throat, and my heart leapt in fear. Zaroff was studying the ground at the base of the tree, almost as if... "Oh no," I had thought in horror. "I might've not hidden my tracks properly!" My initial thought after that realization was to hurl myself upon him, but I then noticed the pistol he had held within his right hand. I watched him shake his head, as if he were puzzled, then take out a cigar and match from the breast pocket of his hunting jacket. He struck the match against the trees trunk, and lit his cigar. The intense, pungent smell of its smoke wafted through the air, drifting up to my nose. As I breathed in the foul smoke, my eyes watered,and I fought off the urge to cough, so as to not reveal myself. From the base of the tree to a branch below me, Zaroffs eyes drifted upward, until his gaze met mine. When he had met my gaze, there was a smile that had stretched across his pigmented face.
For a moment, all I could do was gaze back in horror, thinking that this would be the last of me. My heart was racing, and, by instinct, I had shrunk back against the tree, ready to dodge the bullet that I surely thought was coming. Instead, he blew a smoke ring, and turned away from the tree in a careless manner, walking away. After I couldn't hear the heavy footfall of his boots against the jungle floor, I heaved a great sigh of relief. After sitting there a moment; recuperating from the shock, I had realized two things. The first had made my blood run cold, making me numb. Zaroff could follow a well hidden trail in the dead of night in pursuit of my demise. The second was even more fear inducing: Why had he smiled? And why had he turned away when he surely could've killed me then and there? The thought made a shiver of terror run down my spine.
I didn't want to believe my own reasoning telling me the truth, but I couldn't push it past me any longer. As the morning mist cleared, I thought: "Zaroff is only toying with me! He had saved me for another day!" From that moment on, I knew the true definition of Fear. Reassuring myself, I said: "I will not lose my nerve. I will not," then climbed down the massive tree to get on the move; away from here, and to another safe spot. Wherever that may be.