Fast Fiction: Hitting The Trail
Thoughtless words should not be exchanged when you’re hitting the trail, as Richard Mallinson’s story reveals.
'A bit of grey sky, through the trees, that's all I can see,' said Judith, lying on the ground, her hands clasped behind her neck.
I looked down at her. 'Come on,' I said, 'let's get going.'
'Yes,' she said as I pulled her up, 'let's hit the trail.'
Then she said to her friend, 'Come on, Annie, time to move.'
'Oh, must we?' grumbled Annie. 'I was just settling down.'
I walked to her. 'Well,' I said, 'you'll just have to settle up, won't you?'
She glared at me. 'Oh, very droll,' she said, rising without help.
With our rucksacks on we went slowly up the path, between the trees. I was first, then Judith, then Annie.
'We're going to have to get a move on,' I said, half turning. 'I don't like the thought of being out here in the dark.'
'Oh, the great hero,' scoffed Annie.
'Shut up, Annie,' Judith said.
About an hour later I let them have a rest. It was now almost dark and I guessed that we were nowhere near the road along the top, leading to the hotel.
'I'm exhausted,' said Judith.
'Me too,' said Annie.
'I vote we find ourselves a grotto or something,' said Judith, 'and stay here for the night. . . make ourselves comfortable . . . light a fire . . .
'Light a fire?' I exclaimed. 'You must be off your -'
'Don't talk to her like that,' said Annie. 'You're not her husband yet and perhaps you never will be.'
'Shut up, Annie,' Judith said.
It was dark now and cold. There was no moon. The wind came up and the trees began to creak. ‘This is eerie,' Annie's voice said.
I thought I heard a cry farther down.
'Where's Judith?' I yelled.
