Page 7 of Corrupted Torment

The need to survive has my hands gripping tighter, my booted feet kicking into the bark of the trunk, and my back pushes into the closest branch. I take my inner strength from somewhere within as my descent slows and I finally stop about a quarter of the way up the sky-high tree. Panting with exertion, I remain still, catching my breath. Gripping onto the rain-soaked branch for dear life, only letting myself slowly slide down to sit with a leg draped over either side of the branch. Perching myself in the bend of the fork, between bough and trunk.

Whoops and hollers of my brothers’ roaring laughter comes from all around, uncaring and spiteful sounds of twisted cruelty. Luckily, there is no sign of them close by and I’m glad for the small reprise to recover. Perhaps they believe I am dead; let them think that for now.

Finally feeling sturdy enough to move my hands away, I spot a yellow stream of material snagged around my thumb. It runs across my palm and tangles into the ripped arm of my jacket. A harsh laugh barks out of me as I realise what I have. Partly fused into the flesh of my hand, shredded and torn in multiple places, is clearly what I had been after. Somehow, in the fall, I had caught hold of and kept my marker.

Pure dumb luck.

A low chuckle huffs from my lips as I stash my prize in my jacket. I raise my hands to the rain, cooling the burning heat of red-raw peeled skin. My eyes narrow when I hear the shuffling of movement above, trying to peer through the heavy rain and prepare myself for trouble.

His cry is so familiar, the only brother I have ever truly trusted. Terror floods my veins as I witness his body fall towards me from above. His pale hair flapping madly in the wind as his petrified golden eyes meet mine.

He’s moving so fast, but his fall is almost directly in my path. He must have followed me up the same tree. I shuffle forward on the branch and brace myself. The pain in my hands means nothing as I stretch out my arm for him. I don’t care about my pain so long as I can stop this from happening. I can’t lose him.

Our fingers brush.

He keeps on falling.

I couldn’t catch him.

I watch in horror as he plummets. He yelps and squeals as he hits branches on the way down, but I refuse to look away. The crack and thud of his final descent has me moving fast. I need to get to him; to help him. My heart breaks in the brief deafening silence, my anguish taking control over me as my body shudders in its weakened defeat.

His scream has my heart thudding back to life as I scramble back down. For just a moment there, I had thought the worst. I had thought he was gone, leaving me behind.

From above comes the howling laughter at my brother's pain. It sickens me. These monsters deserve worse than anything my imagination could come up with. Perhaps this storm raging above can take them all. I just don’t understand what happened to them to make them turn so depraved. All I know is I want nothing to do with it, or them.

Slipping and sliding, I reach the ground much slower than I would’ve liked. Trying my best to go speedily, but not wanting to suffer the same fate at taking a misstep on the sodden branches. I rush to his side, trying not to wretch at the gruesome sight of his bone torn through flesh. His left forearm is completely destroyed. Bloodied white bone peeks out from his skin where it has no business being surrounded by ripped tendons and ligaments.

I feel sick, but I have no time to think about it as I kneel beside my bunkmate, trying to reason what I can do for him now. His face is pale, probably as white as mine is green. No help will come until dawn, which worries me while he is bleeding this badly.

As I watch him, I blindly reach for my pocket, willing the torn material to be strong enough. A marker now turned into a tourniquet; I hope to help save my brother’s life. His scream is piercing as I raise his arm even the slightest bit, his panicked eyes finally focusing on me. With the fabric under his arm just above the break, I bind it tightly.

I can only hope the doctors will be able to fix him come morning. Though the scars will haunt him forever. His shrieks turn into whimpers. Red-rimmed, golden eyes move frantically back and forth, yet he sees nothing. I’m pretty sure it’s not just his arm I should be worried about, but I have done all I can for now.

My need to win is gone. It doesn’t matter to me that I lost as soon as my feet touched the forest floor. Right now, the only thing that matters is keeping my genuine family safe and alive until dawn. With the moon just rising and the storm only getting worse; I know it’s going to be a long night.

“It’s going to be okay, Aiden.”

CHAPTER3

DARIO

Age Twelve

Rain drips down my face, hiding the tears drenching my cheeks. I don’t know how I wound up here. I just know I’m alone. So alone. I’ve never been one for outdoors and nature; this place has no signs of anything but. All I’ve seen is tree after tree after tree. Maybe I’m going around in circles. I don’t know, but I’ve certainly not seen any sign of civilisation anywhere.

I’m still wearing the pyjamas I put on for bed. It’s the last thing I remember before waking up here. I remember wishing mum goodnight as I trudged up the stairs, then wrapping myself up warm in PJs blocking the icy chill from the house. I’d then covered myself in blankets before willing sleep to overcome me. The Star Wars pattern seems childish now that I’m out here in the open, and ready for the taking.

Then again, it seems I’ve already been taken.

It's been a few hours since I woke, and I’ve walked for what must have been miles. I’ve seen what I can only assume are footprints, smudged beyond recognition by the weather, but fresh enough not to have washed away entirely. I’ve also witnessed flashes of movement in the distance and calls in the shadows, but no actual people. There’s no one to tell me why I’ve been brought here.

“Hey,” a whispered shout calls.

Startled, I spin and slip slightly in the mud beneath my sock-covered feet. I turn to the voice and catch myself before falling on my arse. It’s a boy, but he’s older. I take a step backwards, rubbing fruitlessly at my tear-stained face with the sleeve of my top. I know better than to let an older boy see my weakness.

“Stay back,” I scream back at him, my words echoing among the trees.

He lifts his hands like he’s trying to placate an animal, but I’m not fooled by that. Bigger boys like to play games. I search around me for a weapon, seeing nothing but mud and rain-soaked foliage and twigs.

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