Slaughtered Sunshine

🤍Breath🤍

Heavy footsteps came into the house. They stomped by the door to get dirt and mud off. Sub stayed curled up in the closet. He stared at the small slit where the door didn't touch the ground to see the shadow move around.

The footsteps got closer. Sub began to shake and pressed into the corner like he was trying to phase through it.

The shadow went away to the left and the footsteps grew loud and creaky as they went up the staircase that the closet was built into.

Sub waited. He didn't move or try to look out. He waited in the closet until he felt it was a hundred percent safe.

Eventually, he slowly opened the closet door and peered out into the house. It was musty and smelled of alcohol, cigars, and mold. The front door was covered in locks. Some of which weren't put back.

Sub quickly went over and undid some of the locks, making sure to make as little noise as possible. He quickly glanced back before throwing the door open and bolting towards the forest.

His bare feet scratched on the twigs and fallen branches. But he kept running. It didn't matter how many scratches or cuts he got. He just ran.

A gunshot rang out. Sub quickly threw his arms over his head and crouched. He looked behind him and ran to a tree.

He climbed up and tried to hide in the thick leaves. The footsteps crunched on the ground and got closer.

A man holding a shotgun and heavy mud covered boots walked through the forest. He looked around and gripped the gun in his hands.

He aimed it upwards and fired a shot. The sound rippled through the forest. Sub clutched onto the tree and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not make a sound.

The man looked around again. He lifted the shotgun and aimed it at the tree. He pulled the trigger.

A bullet grazed Sub's ankle, leaving a horizontal cut across it. He hissed in pain and grabbed the wound with his free hand. The man fired another bullet at the tree, hitting its trunk by where Sub held.

"Get the fuck down here!" The man yelled. "I know you're up there!" Sub stayed quiet, hoping he'd give up and leave. But he didn't.

He aimed the gun again, this time at Sub's head. Sub quickly realized and climbed down, trying his best to not strain his ankle. The man smiled and lowered the gun as Sub hoped down onto the ground with his hands in the air. He harshly grabbed Sub's arm and began to pull him towards the house again.

He threw Sub inside and he crumpled to the ground. The man clutched his gun again and stuck it in the back of Sub's head. He froze on the ground and tried not to move to anger him.

"You're lucky I didn't put a bullet through your head," The man spat. He sighed and put all the locks on the door, some requiring a key.

He yanked Sub up and dragged him upstairs. He threw him into one of the rooms that locked from the outside.

Sub stayed on the floor. He stared at the dingy ceiling that was lit by one dim light in the room.

Other than a mattress, there wasn't any furniture. Cardboard boxes were scattered around. Some filled with clothes. Some with stashed medical supplies.

Sub went over to one of the boxes and took out rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and bandages.

First, he put some of the alcohol on the cotton balls. Then he used it to clean up his wound.

It burned as it touched his skin. Sub gripped his clothes and bit his lip till it bled to deal with the stinging.

He took the bandages and wrapped them around his ankle. They soaked up any blood that was now seeping out.