The Rive's Grip

Just as Alexander regained his rhythm, the forest fell to an
eerie silence. His pant legs shifted in a breeze carrying a
dreadful chill.

He froze. “Oh, no!” A chill came over his entire body.
He jumped behind a broad tree trunk and folded his arms
into his chest. Large as it was, the tree trunk left him
vulnerable.

The whistle of the rive made its approach. It aggressively
blew up and through the surrounding trees, tossing twigs
and leaves about in a fury. Alexander had no time to react as
the whistle gave way to an angry moan.

He felt cold, clammy claws grabbing hold of him and
yanking him from his hiding spot. He desperately reached
for anything to hold him in place, getting only a hand full of
loose dirt which blew right through his fingers.

Within seconds, the wind sent him high into some thick
leafy branches. He latched on to a portion that stuck out just
enough. The wind forcefully pulled at his body. He winced as
his hands slipped over jagged knots in the wood. Blood
seeped from between his fingers.

His bones popped and snapped as the strength of the rive
stretched his body. He shut his eyes tightly and let out a
curdling scream. The thick tree branch creaked under the
tremendous pressure. At any second, Alexander’s lifeline was
certain to break.

He braced himself with his right hand and used his left to
reach for another nearby branch. His fingertips barely
brushed the rough ridges. He scraped and clawed with
everything he had, but it was just out of reach. Then….snap!

Like a feeble toothpick, the branch gave way, sending
Alexander helplessly into the grips of the rive. A funnel
formed, gobbling him up and putting him into an
uncontrollable spin. It carried him back to the river, gaining
momentum as it went along.

A terrible dizzy spell took hold. His eyes rolled to the back
of his head, and he lost consciousness. The funnel flushed
him through like a piece of garbage and spat him right into
the river.