This is day 52 of @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting. Every day @mydivathings invites you to write a short story based on the image she chooses. Today's image (below) is a Photo by Maia Habegger on Unsplash
Find out more about the challenge (you can join anytime!) here @mydivathings/day-52-365-days-of-writing-challenge
She didn’t mean to kill him.
That’s what she kept saying to herself, over and over, as she stumbled out of the woods, into the clearing.
It wasn’t true, of course. Even she didn’t believe it.
…
“Let’s go camping!” Gary said, opening a can of Red Bull and draining half of it. Amanda looked at the others, her eyebrows raised. They all laughed.
“What?”
“Camping?” Amanda said. “You? You’re least outdoorsy person I know.”
“Fuck off,” said Gary. “I like camping.”
“Staying for a week in a chalet in fucking Center Parcs is not camping, Gary. Seriously you’d hate it.”
“Come on! It’ll be a laugh. Get some fresh air, sleep under the stars. Cook some stuff on an open fire. What are those things Americans always eat in films? Sores?”
“S’mores!”
“Yeah, those. Marshmello and shit. Come on, it’ll be great!”
Kev laughed.
“You can’t cook toast without a fucking app, mate. Your whole house is wired up to the internet. And what do you know about real fires? They don’t have an app for lighting fires, you know.”
“Very funny,” Gary said, draining the can and crushing it. He tossed it into the wastebasket by the bed. “I’m serious. My uncle has a big tent, sleeps 8 comfortably. So for us four, it’ll be perfect.”
“Gemma, talk some sense into your boyfriend.”
“I’m not a fucking miracle worker, Kev.”
…
“This’ll do,’ Gary threw his rucksack to the floor.
“You are joking aren’t you?” Gemma walked past him.
“What?” Gary said.
“He’s not, you know,” Amanda said.
“What?”
“For fuck’s sake, Gary, we can’t set up camp here, mate. We can still see the fucking car park,” Kev said, kicking Gary’s rucksack as he passed. “Come on, you big twat.”
“But it’s a great spot! Not far from the bogs, and I’ve got a good signal on my phone!”
“Get a wriggle on, mate. The beers are getting warm.”
…
It was Amanda that found the spot. A cool running stream, perfect for keeping the beers cold, ran beside a natural clearing in the trees. Sunlight flickered through the trees making pretty dancing patterns on the moss carpeted floor.
“Still don’t know what was wrong with the spot near the car,” Gary said, holding his phone up, above his head. “I barely have a signal here.”
“We’re getting back to nature, m’love,” Gemma said. “I’m sure all your followers will cope if they don’t get an update on your scintillating life for a few hours. Come on. Let’s get the tent set up.”
The tent was more complicated to erect than any of them thought possible. Either, they were all more stupid than they thought, or they were missing something crucial. Like the instructions. In the end, Gary volunteered to walk back towards the car to get enough signal to watch a YouTube video. Nobody thought that was a good idea, so Amanda went instead.
It took longer for her to find a good signal than she had imagined. The video clearly showed the use of a pole that they didn’t have. So, basically they were buggered. Unless Gary had left the bloody thing in the boot of the car. Which was more than likely. Luckily, Amanda had the foresight to take the key with her. She tapped the pocket of her jeans, feeling it’s reassuring shape.
She sent Kev a text message - just in case they had a weak signal - to tell him she was going back to the car. Then, thinking it would be more likely for Gary to be checking, she sent him one too.
It was another ten minutes walk to the car park. When she arrived, beside the Volvo (borrowed from Kev’s mum), there was only one other car parked up. Annoyingly, it was parked right next to theirs. Amanda didn’t know why, but it really irritated her. There were fifty other spaces to choose, why park right next to them? The boot clicked open, when she pressed the button on the fob, and lo and behold there was the missing pole. And the rucksack with the extra beers in it too. For fucks sake.
She swung the bag onto her shoulder, and picked up the tent pole. She closed the boot and turned round and came face to face with a man.
“Fucking hell!” she said, the pole dropping to the floor with a clunk.
“Alright love?” he said, smiling, stooping to pick up the fallen pole.
“No, I’m not fucking alright! You scared the living shit out of me. Creeping up on people, like that,” she gestured back to the woods, suddenly nervous. “My friends are just there. With our dog. A rottweiler,” she added, somewhat unconvincingly.
“Sorry, love,” the man said, handing her the pole. “I just wondered if you had the time.”
She looked at the watch on his wrist. He moved towards her. So she poked him in the face with the tent pole.
“Fuck off!” she yelled and threw the bag of beers at him, before turning and running back through the woods.
“You fucking bitch!”
She could hear him pounding after her, as she hurtled through the foliage, branches whipping at her legs, arms and face.
She didn’t see what tripped her. She fell, skidding into a patch of nettles. And he was on her. She fought the bastard with everything she had. Her hands, her nails, her feet and her teeth. His hands found her throat and began to choke her. Her hands found a rock, and she pounded it into the side of his head until he let go and then she carried on hitting him until he was still. And then she hit the fucker again. And again. And again.
…
She didn’t mean to kill him.
That’s what she kept saying to herself, over and over, as she stumbled out of the woods, into the clearing.
It wasn’t true, of course. Even she didn’t believe it.