Olive

• Elise Bennell, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2012

Olive Jackson’s eyes shot open.
She was lying on her back, her hands digging into the wet dirt below her. Her bones felt stiff as she tried to pull herself upwards, a feeling of nausea rolling over her like waves as she looked around.
The wind howled, sending a shiver up Olive’s spine whilst her heart leapt up into her throat, the only sound audible from the fifteen year old was a near silent gurgling. Her breaths came out in shallow gasps. It was so cold that she was able to see it move out in front of her before disappearing again.
Olive was lost; alone in the forest with no recollection of how she had gotten there.
The trees towered over the young girl, the moon nearly obscured from view. A pale light shone through the gaps in the leaves as they rustled in the wind, illuminating the ground on which Olive lay.
Next to her, Olive’s phone vibrated, the screen lighting up as her phone let out three repetitive bleeps.
“Where are you?” Her mother’s voice was shrill and loud, making Olive drop the phone from her shaking hands. Her hands scrambled after the phone instantly, snatching it from the ground and pulling it to her ear once more, only to hear that the call had cut off.
Letting out the tiniest of sobs, Olive stared down at her phone through bleary eyes.
No signal.
With an anguished cry, Olive slammed her phone down in front of her, gritting her teeth together as she sat in the darkness.
It had been at least ten minutes— which Olive spent staring down at her intertwined fingers which shook harder with each passing second— when she heard the sound of snapping twigs, forcing her to lift her head and peer into the overgrown shrubs surrounding her.
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, her mouth gaping open while she stumbled to her feet.
At that exact moment Olive Richards decided she didn’t care anymore how she had landed herself in the middle of the forest; her only priority was getting out.
There was a low grumbling sound from behind the bushes, growing louder and louder before finally a silhouette leaped from the shrubs. With eyes gleaming red like rubies, saliva dripping from the end of its mouth and sharp claws elongated, the wolf standing before Olive let its head drop backwards and howl.
It was the toe curling, heart stopping, blood freezing howl that made Olive turn on her heel—forgetting that the wolf was probably faster— and run.

That night Olive ran faster than she had ever run before. She pumped her arms hard, not knowing whether or not the wolf had followed but not caring. It was then that Olive realised how she had come to be in the forest; she had passed out from exhaustion after going for a run.
Olive had managed to find her way out of the forest and back home, not knowing that the wolf hadn’t even been chasing her from the start.