everything's embarrassing - lu + august, day 1

August

Right over left, then tuck it under–and… there. As the shadows of the trees get longer, I have to squint to see my fingers as I tie the knots in the thin string that will be my tripwire, stretched taut across two knobby tree roots. A cold draft of air creeps along the forest floor, chilling my knuckles, and I think, damn, this place is going to give me arthritis before old age does.

I stop to breathe warmth into my hands, checking over my shoulder to make sure Tsiuri and Thompson are still keeping watch while I set my trap. Thankfully, I can still see their shapes in the distance, outlined against the sunset–they look like two peasants in their cotton shirts, toiling away in the field.

Reaching into my rusty bucket, I grab the steel throwing knife and begin to tie the other end of the string around its handle. Pulling the knot tight with my teeth, I take stock of the branch situation. Gotta be careful with this step. I need to set the knife up in the tree without accidentally stabbing myself–I guess I could toss it up there, but it might be best to climb the tree. Otherwise, one wrong move could seriously ruin my trap. And my face.

Better to do it quick. I bite down on the handle of the knife, holding it steady with my teeth, and begin to climb. Luckily this is something I’ve had lots of practice with, being from Seven, although it takes a bit of adjustment to find the best place for the knife. Anchoring myself in the branches by squeezing my knees together, I start to drape the string over the branch just so--it has to be tight, but loose enough to fall when it’s supposed to, and as straight down as possible. I know I don’t have much time to mess with it, so once it’s in a good place, I start to climb down.

Halfway to the ground, I hear footsteps approaching, even though Tsiuri and Thomspon haven’t moved. Shit. There’s someone passing by, right where my trap is set. If I stay here, I’m a sitting duck if they see me. And if they don’t see me… just the thought of watching that knife burying itself into their skull from a bird’s eye view is horrifying.

I make my decision, even if it’s a stupid one. At least Tsiuri isn’t watching.

”Wait, stop! It’s a trap!” I hiss stupidly at the passerby from my perch, four feet off the ground.