The plan had been simple. Lustfulness would spring the trap, Loneliness would whisper through the trees and then he, Hopelessness, would strike - through the forest, like a raging, unquenchable fire. And he had. The photograph had been in his hand. He had won.
He rubs his elbow as he stands between the trees. This battle is not over.
--
Hopelessness!
Hey!
Hopelessness!
Hoooopelessness!
Where would he go?
I don't know.
This is the place.
Yes. That is the rock. And look at these broken trunks!
He's abandoned us.
Shut up, Loneliness.
No, he has. He's left us. It's the only explanation.
I said 'shut up.' Of course he hasn't!
Well where is he?
He's around somewhere.
And what about that little idiot? Where is he? what happens if he figures it out? Still no-one's thinking about that.
For the last time, he won't, he just won't. He's nowhere near figuring it out. He still thinks it's about the ph...
Sssh. Did you hear something?
--
I hold my breath for what seems like forever. My heart is beating, pulsing like a drum. Twigs rattle through the branches beneath me as they fall. Did they hear?
--
It's just rain.
Hmm. Didn't sound like rain.
Come on, there are tracks this way. We'll find him.
--
"He still thinks it's about the ph.." ...otograph. What does it mean? What if it's ... not? What is this about? What is this all for?
I wait for the thumping footsteps to disappear until I'm left with the rain dribbling from the leaves above my head. Then I open my bag and pull the crumpled photograph into the open air. My Hope.
It's astonishing. The cracks it once had are mending slowly and rather than fading, the picture seems to grow clearer by the moment. It had survived the hands of two giants, the rain of a terrible thunderstorm, and me, desperately tugging it from Hopelessness's gigantic fist as he woke. Yet this old hope, this photograph, is newer than ever.
Weird. I don't understand it. It has not defended me against Hopelessness. If anything, it gave itself away. No, something else had had to protect me, and I am getting used to the idea that the Photographer is somehow doing it all to show me something important - something I have missed.
But if not the photograph, then what?
I peer up through the leaves. There is a patch of blue sky above. A chilly breeze ripples over my sopping muddy clothes, and for the first time in a long time, I realise how cold I am. And how alone.
Why has she sent me back here? How am I supposed to do this? There's one of me and three of them. The forest is silent as though searching for an answer that won't arrive.
It was never a fair fight. Luck brought Uselessness down, a chance encounter with an old machine. But even the Maker couldn't destroy the others. Out there, beyond the whispering trees, three giants are still trying to kill me.
And I am alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
---
Alone...
Is it working?
Shhh. I'm trying to whisper. This isn't easy.
Well? Is it?
Alone... you have no friends here... here... here...
---
... Here. It's true. Where are my friends? Where are my family? Where is the Maker? Why can't he just end this himself? He could do it, he could topple all three in an instant, and let me go home! The thought seems to echo from the trees: a warm fire, a soft bed, and the smell of something cooking on the stove...
---
Home.
Home.
Home.
Is he falling for it?
Yes, I think so. Here. Hold this.
Got it.
Now then. Just a little to the left. Where are those people who promised they'd be with you, little spider?
---
That's a good question, I think. Where are they? Through thick and thin, they said. Well this is pretty thick and they are thin on the ground. Where are they now?
---
They've left you. They've... abandoned you. They think you're not worth... helping... not worth saving... not worth it... at all...
Lustfulness, dip that arrow in your bottle. We've nearly got him.
---
...at all.
A tear starts forming in my eye and the world turns misty for a while. Quickly though, sadness is already changing. It's changing to some other emotion - anger. How dare they abandon me! How dare they treat me so badly. How dare they...
---
Yes, how could they?...
---
Everything in me wants to shout. I mustn't. I fling myself out of the tree and curl my fists into balls of rage. I shouldn't. It feels good and not good all at the same time. How has this happened? How? Why am I so alone? I'm losing control. Frustration explodes as my feet pulse heavily into the earth and I walk out into the open, under the sky.
---
Yes!
Do it. Do it now!
---
I fling my head back to the sky and with everything I've got within me I let loose a single agonising shout into the forest.
The trees seem to quake with fear at this new type of thunder. I have let go of everything and I'm bellowing angrily.
But I don't feel any better. Not really.
Then, out of nowhere and all at once, I'm pushed invisibly backwards by something. It feels like the wind, rushing at a hundred miles an hour out of the trees. A trunk slams into my back and my head jolts against it. I can't move.
There, pinning me to the wood, like a hideous javelin, is a single spear, a gigantic arrow quivering into my arm.
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