The Huntress

An unedited writing warmup

In the matter of a moment, her life went to ruin. Sariah could barely comprehend the empty space in the nook that held her prized possessions, and yet at the same time, she knew exactly what had happened.

Sariah’s mind went right to that woman – that terrible huntress whose machinations never failed. It had to have been her, because only she knew the significance of the historical trophy. Only she knew the dark secret it held. To others, it looked like a normal school award sitting next to a rock from Africa.

But to Sariah, it was a priceless treasure – or rather, had been.

After despair, Sariah felt hot, terrible anger coursing through her. That turncoat who she used to call her best friend had now proven herself to be her darkest enemy. There was only one thing to be done.

Sariah swept into action. She didn’t touch the empty space, hoping some clues might be revealed. Instead, she went to a nearby drawer and pulled out the pistol she hadn’t touched in years. It felt wrong in her hands, like something that belonged to another woman, but Sariah remembered all too well how to load it.

A creak in the floorboards caused her to pause. Sariah nearly slapped herself. Of course.

The thief was still here.

It was just like her to want to gloat in her triumph. Sariah turned in a flash, pointing the pistol straight ahead. She found herself looking down the barrel of a different gun.

“Hello,” the huntress said with a smile.

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Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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