I am slapped into consciousness by the swift and extremely painful sensation of earth charging up to meet me. I supposed I’d forgotten one of the many perils of sleeping in trees - is falling from them.
My eyes struggle to gain focus. Each muscle voices their complaints. My ears fight to pull my attention outwards. I don’t comprehend until small pointed knees shoot into my back and little hands clutch and pull at my face and hair. Sharp shrieks assail me, more grating than the tattered septic nails tearing at my skin.
A part of my mind breaks through the sensory assault. Years ofmy father's persistent training surge through my limbs. My arms contract beneath me, snapping my torso upwards like a catapult.my cheeks and shoulder sting as my diminutive attacker is thrown. I hear the impact and the air forced from her twisted lungs, as I swing my legs under myself and spring into a much safer standing position. My left hand whips to my shoulder and clasps at the wind. My knife- a quick glance to the ground around me confirms nothing, other than the fact that my only real weapon is gone.
The Gimp struggles to right herself. Her arms and legs flail, tossing more dust into the air. For a moment she seems like a regular young child throwing a fit. She rocks and swivels to her stomach, her arms splayed before her, her fingers twitching wildy. The look in her eye is purely indignant, as if I’m the intruder here. She glares up at me from her one good eye.
Something pulls and shudders in my chest. That large cobalt disc should be gleaming with delight over a new doll. Those twiggy fingers should be clutching at a loving mother, not scrounging around in the dirt.
What once may have been a care-free child snarls at me, spittle dripping from her shattered lips. Her whole posture radiates blind loathing. The air is hot with it. I watch as her muscles coil and tense, then she springs. She’s quicker than I had anticipated.
I swear my over confidence will be my downfall someday.
She barrels into me and once again we are a tangle of limbs on the ground. She howls in my face, her rancid mouth gaping. It snaps shut, teeth splintering as my fist connects with her round face. Her head jerks backwards yanking the rest of her tiny body with it. She rolls away as I quickly pull myself into sitting. Dog like whines leak from her as she paws at her face. I should get up. I should run, something- but all I do is stare, as my knuckles tingle with the kiss they’ve just bestowed.
There is a part of me that, in another world would have been rational. It tells me I’ve just struck a child. It wants me to comfort that child and wipe the tears from its eyes, tears that I have caused. “It’s just a gimp.” I yell out. There is no one else around,yet I feel defensive. “Not a child, it’s not even human anymore.” I spit the words into the dirt. They taste gritty and sour. “Just a gimp,” I mumble. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.
The whining trails off, and is replaced by a sort of sulking noise. I turn away but I can feel that big doe like eye on me, her gaze trailing down my profile, leaving slick greasy traces. She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Glancing at her I see, her eyes are fixed on a small hole at the base of the tree. My rabbits, they’re what she’s wanted all along. They’re what she’s waiting for. My spine bristles at the thought of losing my meal. Food isn’t exactly scarce but meat is rare. I turn again to the little monster. She has pulled herself into a lopsided sitting position. The orange light from the setting sun makes her look like some hideous lawn sculpture. Her breathing is labored and her eye flashes between me and the rabbit hole.
I take a tentative step towards the tree; a short snarl follows. I take another tentative step and I hear the sounds again accompanied by shuffling. Inhaling a deep breathe I break in to a run, listening as the wee beasty behind me yowls in shock. I launch myself up the trunk, heaving up into the branches as the thing below screams with fury. I can’t help but laugh. There is no triumph in outwitting a juvenile creature, but this whole situation is ridiculous.
I weave my way through the branches back to where I’d hung my gear hours before. My blade hangs in its sheath; it glints happily in the morning sunlight oblivious to my need for it moments before. I strap it across my chest, breathing in the comfort as it nestles into my shoulders.
Below the gimp grumbles, circling. She alternates between leaping up at me and pestering the rabbit hole. I am faklempt. I can’t get close enough to set a snare, not that a trap would work with a gimp clomping about- Rabbits being skittish as they are. I’m tempted to leave, to admit defeat and move on. I need to find supplies and keep headed south now that the weather is turning. The promise of meat was the only reason for this pit stop.
It is now that my stomach makes its presents known. My tongue runs along the edge of my teeth longing for the sensation of flesh clamped between them. The hunger is almost animal. There must be a way. The gimp has settled below me, she is slumped with her legs throw out in front of her. Her hands twitch in the dirt, clenching into fists then releasing in rapid succession. Every once and a while a grunt will escape from her unbidden. I need to get rid of her somehow.
Any advice you can give me would be awesome! thanks
For your own sake, I demand you edit and revise this; then you will have something. Something I might just 
