Listen to your Mother (last minute story written for english class)

Listen to your Mother
My mother talks a lot. Do I listen to her? Heck no! I don’t need her to tell me what to do its always rule and restrictions with her. Stay with your brother she said, only go to houses you know she said, don’t eat all your candy she said, and most of all don’t go near the woods they’re much too dangerous for little boys she said. Now I didn’t think I needed to listen to all of her nonsense, I was too busy plotting my route. It was a route I was going to stick to… that is until my paper candy sack was whisked away by a fluttering breeze. And it fluttered all the way past the last house, mailbox, garden gnome, and the last indications of civilization, on into the forest. Teenagers used to hang out in the woods all the time, but not anymore, not since they stopped coming out. There is always gossip and hearsay about the woods being the dumping site for toxic waste but no one really believes it. Now I’m no scaredy cat so I march my happy butt all the way to the edge of the forest and take in the scenery. My Mother’s words chime through, don’t go near the woods, but I stamp them back down and stow them away. I had to go in I couldn’t give up like this. It’s not so bad on the way in trees, sky, owls hooting, nothing out of the ordinary. I see my paper sack flagging me down from a tree branch. I snag it and run the way I came, or at least the way I thought I came. But its okay I just got turned around I can find my way back. I walk with my pumpkin flash light held high above my head illuminating my way back. But soon my beacon of light starts dimming lower and lower with each step until it sputters out and leaves me in the darkness. Who needs a flashlight I’ll use the moon as my guide. I kept these thoughts running strong until soon the moon becomes a looming omniscient eye glaring over the tree tops. The same trees that turned from simple shrubbery into gnarled, twisted, arms reaching up from the ground grasping for air out of the musky forest. Musky, that was new, I hadn’t noticed the transition. The air used to be crisp and chilly, but now it was dense and humid coating my throat and fogging up my lungs. It smelled bad too. This couldn’t be right I didn’t come this way, this is all new. I was so tired. My legs and throat burned and ached for relief. I continued on deeper pushing my way through trees becoming more compact and spiraling together mixed with briars.
The next few things happened in a whirlwind of events. The sharp pain in my neck as I’m hit from behind, the thorns piercing my costume and tearing into my skin. The stench enveloping me in an unwelcome blanket along with the wet sloshing feet stamping out the mud. Sticky fingers wrapping around my limp limbs and my mother’s words trickling up from the pits of my mind echoing and reciting like a regretful prayer. Don’t go near the woods. More footsteps. Don’t go near the woods. Leaves Crunching into my face. Don’t go near the woods. Dragging me across the cold hard ground. Don’t go ne…