Author's note: This story varies from my others to date. As always, I seek all feedback, positive and negative, to become a better writer and see what others enjoy in comparison to my own desires. Enjoy!
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Sun. Glorious sun.
Kelly sighed, as she turned her car off the highway, reaching the small side road only marked as "SR 5". She needed this badly, a temporary reprieve from her life, from the daily grind. She had planned this little personal outing for a couple weeks now, to get some "me time", and after a week like this, it couldn't come soon enough.
That bright morning summer sun shifted into her view as she turned, making Kelly squint her green eyes, even behind her sunglasses. But she welcomed the light. It was warm. Soothing. The glare was only for a minute anyways, as she soon found the secondary road, an unnamed dirt strip flanked by green meadows and a pointed sign identifying "Patterson's Trail". Kelly turned the vehicle again, immediately feeling and hearing the road surface become rough.
A mile or so along, and Kelly reached the end of the road, coming to a wooden fence with a pedestrian opening. She slowed her vehicle to a stop, noting the trailing sound of the dirt and gravel crunching under the tires. A light dust cloud greeted her upon exiting the vehicle, which quickly dissipated, leaving clean, sweet, nature's air.
Kelly looked around, reveling in the vivid colors of the land—the bright blue sky, a rich green collage of wild grass carpeting the meadow, and beyond the fence, the deep earth tones of the forest. She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath through her nostrils, smelling the world around her, a mixture of sweet grass, a rural breeze, leaves, pine, and earthen dirt. Then she opened her eyes again and slowly exhaled, releasing all the stressors of life, feeling herself relax.
Grabbing a small pack from the back seat, Kelly changed into a pair of trail shoes, locked her car, and set off on the trail. She crossed through the fence, passed the treeline, and followed the path into the forest for a day of rare solitude. Setting a moderate pace, she settled into a steady rhythm, strolling up the path.
Crunch, crunch, crunch...
Kelly's breath fell into sync with her steps, hearing the sound of her soles plodding on the earthen trail, swinging her arms in time. She felt her heart rate increase, her body warm from the exercise. A trace of perspiration coated her fair skinned legs below her hiking shorts, her bare arms, her freckled cleavage above her partially open lightweight linen shirt. The air felt good on her lightly perspired skin. Miles passed.
As she walked, her mind wandered—things she needed to do at work, family, health. Worries of life, of her past, recurring responsibilities that constrained and wore down her endurance, her self-image. Daily thoughts and memories that would never escape her mind, for the rest of her life. Aching emotions of feeling alone, needing affection, to be touched. Needing to be wanted by someone. Kelly sighed as she walked. Even now, escaping life for a few hours, she couldn't escape herself, dammit. Her heart remained heavy. Troubled.
Lost in her thoughts, her body went on autopilot as an hour or two passed, trudging along the trail under the treed canopy. Except an occasional squirrel or bird, Kelly was completely alone, left to her own thoughts. Reaching a stream, she saw a couple old picnic tables to the sides of the trail, and decided it would be a good place for a mid-day lunch and rest. She stopped, feeling the warmth in her muscles, aware of her blood pumping through her body, feeling alive.
Kelly sat down at the first table, breathing deeply and stretching, enjoying the feel of a rest and taking weight off her feet. She pulled a sandwich and water bottle out of her pack and set them on the table in front of her, but, for some reason, she wasn't too interested. Her mind was too preoccupied with all her inner thoughts. She sat, staring at the textured bread of her sandwich, idly tracing her fingers along the plastic edge of the sandwich bag. Huh... her gaze wandered to the edge of the table where there was a weathered embossed metal placard. "BSA Troop 303, Eagle Scout Project 1989". Wow. The table had seen its time, and was certainly seasoned, but seemed well built and pretty sturdy.
A wet "splosh" sound ahead snapped her out of her trance, and her blood suddenly went cold. A man appeared in the shadows of trees in front of her, crossing the creek on the trail. Being alone, she all at once felt vulnerable and defensive, so far away from anyone else, her day alone violated by an intruder, this stranger.
He was tall, and big. Maybe 6'3", early 40's, light brownish grey peppered hair and a goatee. He wore long khaki-colored cargo pants, brown leather hiking boots, and a black pocketed shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring thick, sturdy forearms. Their eyes met for a second, and Kelly felt a chill. His eyes were dark and cold, seemingly scanning, assessing for something, then moving on. He seemed to be quietly on a constant guard, watching and taking in the world. There was something... powerful about this man. Kelly stayed motionless.
Not wanting to connect, yet feeling a natural compulsion for courtesy, Kelly breathed, "Hello."
"Hi."
A simple gruff response, his voice deep and full of gravel. He fleetingly met her gaze, then sat down at the opposite side of the other old table, several yards away, and acted like Kelly wasn't even there. He pulled out a bag of jerky from a thigh pocket, and set to munching, looking down at the table in front of him in solitude.
Feeling a little less threatened, Kelly matched his actions, leaning forward to look downwards, and opened the clear plastic bag to pull out her sandwich. Still not feeling much of an appetite, she nibbled small bites and pretended to focus on her lunch. But her attention was really on this man, with a mixture of fascination and vigilance. As she chewed her food, she watched him intently out of the corner of her eye.
His attire could only be what she had heard referred to as "tacticool", clothing often worn by an ex-military person or "operator", who likes the functionality and movement of garments that allow unencumbered movement when doing physical tasks. Paired with the cargo pants and shirt, he wore a long checkered olive-colored "shemagh" scarf around his neck, and a tan cap with a small Velcro patch on the front. What was that insignia? A skull? Military unit?
He moved with a purpose, seemingly tight and controlled, using small fluid motions close to the body, like there was no wasted energy of motion. Putting away the jerky, he pulled out an apple and flicked open a side-opening knife with one hand. He then set to cutting off little apple chunks and putting them in his mouth by knife point.
She was suddenly captivated by his hands. Strong. Weathered. Masculine, with hair on the back, running up those forearms. But there was something about his hands. Something that said they had done terrible, unspeakable things. Been trained, over and over, until muscle memory itself knew instinctively how to react, how to operate.
How to... kill?
Kelly felt goosebumps, and couldn't stop staring at this man from the corner of her eye. His hands seemed to accompany inner, hidden secrets inside of him, of things no person should ever have to see. Of things no man should ever have to do. He seemed confident and fairly content with himself, but there was something so sad about him, lonely in solitude, like he was living a life of continual pain and grief. She quietly gazed at him, as covertly as she could manage, and her inner thoughts started up again.
She had her own demons too, things she had done that she considered unforgivable. The church told her this wasn't so, but she wrestled daily with God and her own soul. Her mind began to wander back to many years ago, back to that fateful, awful day. Remembering everything that had happened. The intense, spirit-quashing hurt. That fucking pain. The guilt. Remembering... HIM.
Kelly's head drooped forward, as it all came flooding back yet again, her red hair falling forward over her face. FUCK. She closed her eyes, not wanting to go there, but not being able to help it, either. Her heart broke open, as it had day after day for God knows how many years. That sinking, deep, intense aching feeling returned in her chest, like someone was squeezing her torso, crushing her soul inside. She sat, still as a statue, silently breaking down inside, her heart tearing apart, old scars once again ripping open at the same seams in a bloody, grisly mess. Her mind took her elsewhere, an involuntary mental ride she had no desire to take.
FUCK!!! Kelly was suddenly aware of streaks of tears on her face, dripping onto her fucking sandwich, and looked up with a jolt, at once scared and angry at herself for letting herself be so vulnerable. Her gaze went right to the other picnic table which was... empty.
Kelly sniffled and abruptly swiped her hands across her cheeks, and up under her sunglasses to wipe away all evidence. Then she pushed her crimson hair out of her face, which was now matted into her tears. How much time had passed? He couldn't have seen. She had her sunglasses on, her face had been down and hair falling forward. She furtively looked around, once again alone. There was only silence, paired with the faint babbling of the nearby creek. Where did he go? No matter. This was a day to be alone.
