Hunted and Alone - Art Prompt Writing Contest #4

The light from the morning sun stabbed at me through my closed eyelids.

Not like warm light waking me gently through the window into some cozy bedroom, but a sharp and frigid light that pierced to my core and ripped me from sleep. The sun had suddenly appeared between the ridges of the forest canopy in the distance. It was time to move.

I turned away from the sun and opened my eyes, quickly surveying my surroundings in the light. I had fallen asleep sitting up against a tree. My right hand was still tightly gripping my trident, as if it had been ready for battle as I slept. Finally, I was learning. I may be allowed to rest from time to time, but I must never let down my guard.

I stood and began to hurriedly gather my things. I couldn't allow my mind to wander to the faces of people I'd lost. That would just leave me vulnerable and exposed, neither of which I was anxious to be during the daytime. I had to face the simple facts: Yesterday I was not alone, but today I am alone. And I'm being hunted.

The reality of the situation was not difficult to accept; I knew what I had to do. In order to survive, I needed to find other people. Without other people, I could never continue to stand up to the four-legs.

Didn't they used to be people like us?

I knew it would be difficult, but there would be others out there somewhere. I was determined to head south until I found a group of people. Like me, but together. Good, two-leg people. I thought I would find them near the gulf coast, where they could survive on the resources of the ocean. It was as good a plan as any might have been.

I picked up my pack and my trident and was beginning to move when I was wracked with a sudden agonizing flash of my brother Gregory's death. He had been savagely ripped apart by a herd of stinking and wailing four-legs not twenty-four hours before. I remembered hearing his screams, even over the creatures' blood-curdling shrieks.

How did they become so different?

Although the pain of losing my last relative threatened to rip me apart all on its own, I hardened my heart and began at my speedy pace through the forest trails. I knew I had to get away from the creek before the four-legs appeared, but my water was nearly empty. Once refilled, I would be able to head off into the tall grass fields. The grass made the best possible daytime cover.

Why do they go on four legs?

I felt comforted by the trident in my hand. My power, my protection. Without this weapon I'd be lost. It reminded me of my father, who crafted it with his own hands some time before he was slain. There was no way of knowing how many I would have to kill just to stay alive, but with my trident it could be done.

Why do they kill?

I kept thinking of all the questions I used to ask my father. Questions to which I never got satisfactory answers. I was pulled abruptly from my reverie as I heard the clumsy cracking of branches in the distance. Then came the snarling, coughing and grunting that was a sure giveaway of the type of people that were approaching. I stealthily ran away from the creek and slipped into the safety of the tall grass, where I continued down my path as the four-legs clamored in the distance.

Here's the original contest link!
https://steemit.com/contest/@gmuxx/art-prompt-writing-contest-4