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The Girl and The House by Gregory Harvey
SUMMARY: Inspired by Goldilocks. :)
Cold, tired and hungry.
The wind swept around her violently, painting the bush with long strokes of darkness. The storms, gathering in the south, were rumbling as they slowly rushed towards her. They'd be above her soon, shattering the sky with lightening. The rain so far was only a drizzle, but that would change soon.
Isabelle stumbled through the bush without direction. The pale beam of light emanating from her torch lit only a small, insignificant area in front of her. The light was struggling to slice through the thick darkness that cloaked the landscape behind its deceitful veil. Yet still she walked aimlessly.
The trees hung over Isabelle as her feet crackled over discarded leaves and twigs. Somewhere, to the east perhaps, she could hear the gentle whisper of a running creek. She was running. Escaping. But even as she did so Isabelle wanted to turn back. Where could she possible be going? Where would she possibly end up? But even those questions did not matter now. All that mattered was getting away.
Her feet were becoming tired quickly, as the treaded through the rough, uneven surface of the Australian bush. Twigs were crushed beneath her feet, her footprints leaving temporary marks in the dirt. And as the clouds finally started to unleash small droplets of water, and as the lightening began to shatter in the sky above her, Isabelle only moved faster, as difficult as it was.
She was now moving beside a creek that was beginning to fill with running water from the oncoming deluge. The rain subtly gained in persistence. It was not long before her clothes were soaked through, and the rain was simply streaking down her body. Isabelle's hair was plastered to her forehead. It irritated her eyes as it dangled down into them. A brush of her hand remedied this problem twice, before it gave up under the continuous interference of the rain.
The torch was becoming useless, as the beam was now only bouncing off of the streaking tears of water as they fell from the sky and broke against the trees, ground and Isabelle's skin. It was for this reason, and because Isabelle was perhaps too wrapped in her own thoughts, that she didn't see the house until it was scarcely five metres distant. When she did see it, Isabelle stopped in the mud that had evolved from the dirt, with her feet sinking in an inch or two.
Water was gushing from unkempt and rusted guttering that bordered the house's roof. The windows were boarded up, the front door bore the usual scars of time as well as a series of strange marks on its lower half that looked like something had been scratching at it. The upper half was badly stained glass. With the rain now whipping at her back , Isabelle moved towards the house of rotted wood (which looked like a few of the old horseman's shacks she had seen around the district). The rain was battering against the corrugated iron roof. Two large box gums sat beside the house, flanking it.
Isabelle attempted to peer through the front door with her torch, but the dirt encrusted on it blocked her attempt effortlessly.