Posted: Fri Jun 16, 2017 9:50 pm Post subject: Too Late to Run #1
The lakeside pool party dragged onto the early evening. The light was still crossing the sky as the sun sank below the horizon. Small groups of partygoers began to wander onto the dry lakebed as the number of participants grew.
Little Clara Davis tagged along as a group of older kids made the walk onto the lakebed.
Feeling ignored, Carla eventually wandered away from the group, as the older kids became engrossed in a juicy bit of gossip.
She noticed a small trail that cut into a wall of thick grass.
Seeking to break the boredom, Clara suddenly had the urge to see where the trail led.
She noticed that everyone was too engrossed in conversation to pay any attention to where she was.
So, she took the moment to slip through the grass and down the thin trail of dried mud.
Her disappearance went unnoticed by the group of kids who were in charge of her care.
The trail opened to a wide patch of soggy ground after what seemed like a fair distance into the tall grass.
The mystified girl slowly walked into the clearing and turned every which way looking at the tall grass around her, her footprints in the wet earth, and the ever-darkening sky above her.
She stood for a bit, smiled, and let out a large sigh as she listened to bird calls, then looked in the direction of the flock as it flew away.
Suddenly, the look of mortal shock spread across her face.
The next few seconds were filled with the thrashing of arms, desperate thrusting of legs, and twisting of her body.
Desperate whines and groans were heard with the sounds of sucking, popping, and gurgling mud.
Then silence, but for Clara’s beating heart and deep gasping breaths.
She twisted left, then right looking down at the soggy ground around her.
Little Clara Davis was thigh deep in heavy and wet muck.
dk_angel7 Superior Master Rescuer III Adept Craftsman
Joined: 07 Feb 2005 Posts: 321 Location: Florida Panhandle
Posted: Fri Jun 16, 2017 9:54 pm Post subject: Too Late to Run #2
Clara threw her T-shirt to the side and began to struggle.
She lifted a leg each time she shoved a foot downward as she tried to free herself from the deep mud.
Both hands plunged downward into the mud each time she tried to push herself upward and out
The soft earth pitched and rolled around her with each effort.
Each grunt became more desperate as the look of panic steadily spread across her face.
Every move just forced her legs deeper into the muck.
With a muted scream, Clara twisted and jerked in an abrupt but desperate panic.
The wet earth mounded and sank with each lunge. Rings of muck grew as they spread outward from her shifting body. They would reach half way across the soggy clearing before the rings vanished into the spongy ground.
Then there was silence.
There was silence but for the sound of deep gasping and the occasional pop of a bubble on the surface of the mud.
She twisted to the left shaking bits of mud off of her hands looking at the soft mud that surrounded her.
She twisted to her right. Her hand skimmed the just above the surface as she turned.
She looked downward as if to see how far she had sunk into the muck.
She lifted her head to look into the direction of the pool party and the thumping rock music blasting from several large speakers.
A look of agony radiates from her face as she lifts her arms and turns both hand palms up.
She stood still for a brief moment as if she was wondering.
As if she was wondering why or how she fell into this mess.
As if she was thinking that this could not get any worse than it was now.
Or could it?
Clara gasped as a look of dreadful shock radiated from her face as the Sound Technician turned up the volume to the sound system.
A party host called everyone back to the pool area for the next event for the evening.
There was no reason to believe that anyone else would be on the lakebed.
Posted: Thu Aug 31, 2017 3:16 am Post subject: Too Late to Run #3
Still, not one move but for steady deep breaths.
Turning her head left then right, Clara looked at her surroundings.
The cheeks on her face were tight. Both eyes were focused on desperately looking for something solid to grab.
Clara pushed both hands deep into the mud half way to her elbows trying to stabilize her body in the thick, soggy, and unstable mud.
Occasionally, bubbles popped on the murky surface within a few feet around her.
She took several, deep, and calming breaths and looked downward. She looked at where her waste ended and the consuming quagmire began.
She looked at the thick, brownish, grimy, gritty, and soggy muck that held her. She watched as it slid against the slick, soft, and smooth texture of her colorful, well-fitted, and modest nylon/spandex one-piece swimsuit.
She watched as she ever so slowly, but steadily slipped deeper into the soggy earth.
Throwing her head upward, she violently yanked both hands out of the mud in front of her.
Her body shook. Her lower lip trembled. Her skin turned a pale white.
Two eyes wide open in terror searched her surroundings as she jerked left and right.
Then she looked into the direction of the loud music and celebrating partygoers with both hands facing upward as if asking a desperate question.
Morbid sobbing screams.
They were the screams of a young girl who knew she would never be heard through the powerful pounding of the music and the shouts of the partygoers.
They were the screams of a young girl being swallowed alive by the ground that she walked on just moments before.
They were the screams of a young girl who knew that the Angel of Death was nearby. She knew that Death was smiling and waiting for the entertainment. Death was waiting for her to drown or violently choke to death under several feet of sucking muck.
All the while, both of her hands would be clawing for the surface which would already be well beyond reach.
Clara knew that for Death, she was a precious and gorgeous trophy of a catch. She was so young, innocent, and sheltered. So young that, her family had not even considered the problems that come with an attractive daughter whom could be asked out for a school dance by some sheepish boy.
They were the screams of a young girl who knew that she could easily not be missed until the morning, as her family would wonder why she had failed to come home the night before.
The finger pointing would begin, as everyone would blame everyone else for her disappearance. They would not even know that her body was hidden in an unmarked grave.
All traces of her would be erased as the muck reclaimed its smooth surface. All but for her partially mud soaked T-shirt near the center of some unknown murky clearing, which could be picked up by some dog fetching for its master.
Until then the only thing she could do is pray for a miracle.
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