Sticky end of the situation

A Fly

The forest was eerily quiet, void of any kind of noises. If I were able to detach myself from the situation, I could say that the environment was visually rather enchanting in its own way with its hues of every imaginable value in form of imaginary plants, puffs of dust, soft earth and inviscid fluids and not so inviscid fluids, running on top of the green mats of earth and plants or just sticking in places in gooey masses. There were vines and groves far above me, and cosy little flowery hills here and there, very tall trees, with lots of roots and branches that wove a whole another floor of forest above me so that sunlight was able to slither down only in narrow trails. Further away, the forest somehow thinned so that the light could reach the level I was in, and it made the scenery glow in delightfully vivid emeralds.

Indeed I would have been happy to make a little stroll around and jovially inspect all the tiny little wonders around the place if not for the fact that I was throbbing with pain and lying in one rather big pile of those previously mentioned gooey masses. 

Following the series of events that had happened to me in short; I ran after enclosing two Ox demons and some smaller minions of theirs and sought safety within the deep of some woods, met with more demons, brought them down with my arrows until I ran out of arrows, then one sad little bit of Snake demon I was struggling with caused me to tumble down a hole through a green matted floor layer of the forest. 

The rest is history. 

I am still trapped in that very, very viscous fluid after all. 

I’d like to be able to move at least something besides my facial muscles. Like my fingers for example. Of course after falling I tried at once to remove my person from the sticky substance, but the more I wriggled, the more stuck I became. I also tried to purify the goo in hopes that it might be some sort of evil, but found pouring my reiki into it for naught, and gave up after using too much.

I’m scared to shout in fear of attracting unwanted attention.

Now with both my physical and spiritual powers depleted, if any demon happened on me I would appear like a fly in a net, ready to be gobbled up. I can buzz all I want, struggle all I want to no result. 

The goo sort of prickles, tingles on my skin. It is therefore that I hope this putrid smell in the air comes not from my skin being slowly dissolved and would rather it be the distinctive odor of the substance to which I haven't quite gotten used to yet.

I’m starting to think more about water. I really want to drink.

I want to scratch my cheek, it itches.

I want to use the toilet.

I want to be able to sleep.

I wish to scream whether it draws demons or not.

If a foolish one comes out, I might be able to trick it into releasing me somehow. It could be a demon that wants my hair. Or skin. Or heart. Or knowledge. Or just to eat me. Whichever it will be, I can only try my best, because dying here without a fight is not an option.

I let it out at the top of my lungs; if only the greenery around had hearing, it would go deaf.