The Mating Run by Leeka

Obsession

I once had this plant, you know? It was this tiny thing, nestled in a little pot on my windowsill. I thought I

was doing it a favor by showering it with water every single day. Like, who wouldn’t want a daily dose of

hydration, right? Little did I know, I was drowning the poor thing in my overzealous attempt to be a

stellar plant parent.

Every morning, without fail, I’d grab that watering can and unleash a torrent of liquid affection upon my

leafy companion. I thought I was being the best plant mom ever. I mean, what plant doesn’t want to be

surrounded by water? It’s like their thing, isn’t it?

But you know what happened? Despite my unwavering dedication, that little. green buddy of mine

started looking… well, not so lively. Its leaves began to droop, and the vibrant green hue turned into a

sad shade of brown. It was like a slow–motion botanical disaster right there on my windowsill.

–

One day, as I gazed at the wilted state of my once–thriving friend, it hit me like a ton of bricks maybe,

just maybe, I’d been a tad too enthusiastic with the watering routine. You’d think I’d learn from the first

few signs of distress, but nope. I kept pouring on the H2O, convinced it was the elixir of life for my little

leafy buddy.

It’s funny, you know? How we sometimes think we’re doing the right thing, pouring all our efforts into

something, only to realize we might be suffocating it instead. I guess I had this grand vision of my plant

thriving under my care, standing tall and proud. Instead, it was gasping for air in soil that had become a

watery bog.

Now, I can almost hear you thinking, “Why didn’t you just Google it?” And yeah, you’re right. I could

have, but there’s this stubborn streak in me that insists I know what’s best. Google? Pfft. Who needs it

when you’ve got sheer determination to drown out common sense?

So, there I was, facing the harsh reality that my plant–parenting skills were, well, lacking. But you know

what’s even more comical? In my quest to be the best plant parent ever, I ended up being the reason

for its demise. Irony, right?

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Obsession

I remember standing there, pot in hand, soil soaked beyond recognition, and leaves that looked more

like they belonged in a compost heap than on a thriving plant. It was a moment of reflection, a botanical

reckoning, if you will. I had to

–

accept it my once–green companion was now a casualty of my overenthusiastic approach to nurturing.

In the silence of that plant funeral, a realization dawned on me.

Maybe, just maybe, less is more.

Fast forward to the present, and here I am, navigating the curious waters of Ettie’s intentions. It’s like

she’s armed with a watering can of goodwill, pouring it over me with the conviction that she knows

what’s best. The irony isn’t lost on me from the over–nurturing plant parent to being on the receiving

end of Ettie’s overbearing protectiveness.

Ettie, in her own way, thinks she’s doing what’s good for me. Just like I believed drowning my plant in

daily showers of affection was the key to botanical bliss. The intentions are golden, right? But the

execution, oh boy, that’s where things get a bit tangled.

Ettie’s become a sort of guardian, a protector with an unyielding belief that her ways are the path to

salvation. It’s oddly familiar – the misguided sense of knowing what’s best for someone else. In her

eyes, she’s watering my metaphorical leaves, ensuring I thrive under her watchful gaze.

The thing is, just like my poor plant, I’m feeling a bit suffocated. Ettie’s care, while well–intentioned, has

this weight to it. It’s as if every gesture is an attempt to shield me from the perils of the world, to cocoon

me in safety. And while safety is nice, there’s a thin line between protection and suffocation.

We’ve had our moments, Ettie and I. Conversations where I try to express that her version of protection

feels more like confinement. She doesn’t see it that way, of course. To her, the world is a perilous

jungle, and she’s the fierce hunter ready to fend off any threat.

I’ve tried to make her understand that sometimes, I need space. Like my poor plant needed room to

breathe between watering sessions, I need moments where I

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Obsession

can navigate life without feeling like every step is monitored. It’s a tricky conversation, though, because

it’s hard to articulate the need for independence without sounding ungrateful.

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There’s this dichotomy, you see. On one hand, I appreciate the concern, the genuine desire to shield

me from harm. On the other, I find myself yearning for the freedom to make my own choices, to

navigate the metaphorical soil of life without fearing I’ll drown in someone else’s well–intentioned care.

In those moments of attempted conversation, I’ve glimpsed the frustration in Ettie’s eyes. It’s like she

can’t fathom why I’d want anything other than her vigilant protection. And there’s the rub – the gap

between what she thinks is best for me. and what I feel I need.

I’m sitting here, huddled in the corner of this makeshift hut, feeling like a lamb caught in the den of a

wolf. Elijah’s dried blood stains the

floor, a harsh reminder of the madness that unfolded not too long ago. And as Ettie casually walks

around, like nothing is wrong, I’m left here, grappling with a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.

The air is thick with tension, and every creak of the wooden walls sends shivers down my spine. I can’t

shake the feeling that I’m at the mercy of forces beyond my control, and it’s suffocating. Ettie moves

with an eerie calmness, as if the brutal act of moments ago was just a blip in the timeline of her

existence.

The floor beneath me feels cold, almost unforgiving. I shift my gaze from the bloodstains to Ettie, who’s

now rummaging through a bag with a casual demeanor. It’s disconcerting, the way she seamlessly

transitions from hunter to caretaker. A paradoxical dance that leaves me on the edge, wondering which

side of her I’m truly facing.

I consider making a run for it, a desperate bid for escape from this unsettling scene. But where would I

go? The forest outside is a labyrinth of dangers, and the howls of unseen creatures serve as a constant

reminder that survival isn’t guaranteed beyond these walls.

Ettie glances in my direction, her eyes momentarily meeting mine. There’s a flicker of something in her

gaze – a recognition, a shared secret, or perhaps just a brief acknowledgment of the chaos that binds

us together. My heart races, unsure

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Obsession

of what that glance signifies.

Does she see me as an accomplice, a witness, or something else entirely?

Ettie approaches, a nonchalant smile on her face.

“Everything okay?”

Ettle asks, as if we’re discussing the weather. I manage a nod, my voice caught In my throat. Her hand

reaches out, a gesture that could either be comforting or threatening. I flinch, unable to decipher the

intentions behind the simple act.

As she continues her chores, I can’t help but wonder – am I truly safe here? Is this hut a sanctuary,

shielding me from the horrors lurking outside, or have I exchanged one perilous situation for another?

The echoes of Elijah’s last moments linger in the air, a haunting symphony that plays on repeat in my

mind.

I try to focus on the mundane – the rustle of Ettie’s movements, the creaking of the wooden

floorboards, anything to distract me from the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. Yet, with each

passing moment, the feeling intensifies, like a storm gathering strength on the horizon.

Ettie glances at me again, this time with a hint of concern.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She asks. Her words pierce through the fog of my thoughts, and I force a weak

smile.

“Yeah, just processing everything.”

I reply, a feeble attempt to convey composure.

Fingers fumbling at the crinkled map tucked inside my pocket. It feels like a lifeline, a fragile plece of

paper that might hold the key to my escape. Ettle is humming a tune, completely absorbed in whatever

she’s doing on the other side of

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Obsession”

the hut.

My heart races as I try to unfold the map without making a sound.

The paper protests with each cautious move, whispering a tale of my clandestine plans. I steal a glance

towards Ettie, making sure she’s still

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preoccupied. Her attention seems fixed on something in the corner, oblivious to the fumbling of a

desperate soul.

The map unfolds reluctantly, revealing intricate lines and markings that might as well be a labyrinth of

possibilities. I trace the paths with my eyes, searching for the route that leads far away from this

madness. Every second counts, and I can’t afford to make a wrong move.

My fingers brush against the map, and I squint at the names of places I’ve never been. A forest of

uncertainty lies beyond those marked boundaries, but it’s a gamble I’m willing to take. I can’t stay here,

tethered to a person who blurs the line between protector and predator.

The crinkling sound of the map echoes in the confined space. My eyes dart towards Ettie, but she

remains engrossed in her own world.

I look down at the map, my fingers trembling. The words seem to dance, a cryptic code that promises

freedom. I trace a path with my index finger, plotting my escape like a fugitive on the run. Ettie hums, a

melody that clashes with the turmoil in my mind.

The realization hits me – I can’t let Ettie see the map. It’s my ticket out of this nightmare, a small piece

of hope that I can’t afford to lose.

I remember the times when Ettie and I shared dreams of a future, plans that never included the harsh

realities of the mating run. We were naive, blinded by the camaraderie of friendship. Now, the lines

between friend and foe blur in this unforgiving landscape.

–

A dialogue plays in my mind the words Ettie spoke, the twisted logic she tried to force upon me.

“Claiming for safety,” she said, as if it could erase the stains of

violence from her hands. I can’t trust her, not now.

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Obsession

The Ettie I knew would never have resorted to such extremes.

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I close my eyes for a moment, hoping to shut out the memories of the chaos, to escape into the

simplicity of a time when normalcy was just a part of everyday life.

I want things to go back to the way they were, to the laughter shared with Ettie around a crackling fire,

to the warmth of friendship that now seems like a distant echo. But deep down, I know that normal is a

luxury I can no longer afford.

–

The ache for normalcy intensifies as I recall the times we shared the lazy afternoons by the river, the

hushed conversations beneath a starlit sky. I want to believe that those moments weren’t swallowed by

the darkness that now lurks. within Ettie. I want to believe that normal still exists somewhere beyond

the tangled branches of the forest.

But reality is unforgiving, and the echoes of Ettie’s actions resound in my mind.

“I just want things to go back to normal.”

The words hang in the air, a fragile wish that I know will remain unanswered. As the shadows lengthen,

I feel a sense of resignation settling within me.

As the memories of Ettie’s twisted actions replay in my mind, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m trapped

in a cycle of horror, my choice to register for the mating run becoming a haunting decision.

The regret gnaws at my conscience, a relentless reminder that the pursuit of companionship may have

led me straight into the clutches of something far more

sinister.

III

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