Rodney Forte'

Uprising Rodney Forte'

Freddy raced through the thickening forest of trees and high foliage, the slapping blades of plants and vegetation whisking against the fusion of denim, suede, and miniaturized, tuned, square metallic reflective panes fashioning his pants; the sound of jangling chimes accompanying him as the plant life rubbed across the blended materials. Most times it was a sound enjoyed, part of their appeal. He wasn't so found of it now, would step out of them as quickly as he could if he could spare the moment, but they sounded close. Probably the clatter of his pants helping them track him, he'd spare the time. Pushing off from the tree he'd used to steady himself as he'd stepped out of them, he realized day had rotated to night without notice, his mind on nothing but escape since his error in judgment just under half an hour prior. He'd been running since and didn't know how much longer he'd be able to go on. He was in great shape, due to his dancing and health regimen, but running for your life through a darkening woodland was a singular type of running.