[ WP ] You are a child lost in a jungle . Something is hunting you .

*Using third person, despite, I think, the prompt implying a first person response. I hope that's ok* 
 
 Rebecca struggles through the haze into consciousness. The noise is intense; the myriad microcosms of the jungle each adding their own atonal drone, shrill shriek or inhuman hiss to the miasma. 
 
 The effect is freeing as our child's mind, thick with fever, gives her some small reconciliation for own it's unremitting reality. 
 
 For a time, just enough, she is with the plaza with her parents. She's lying on the marble bench by the fountain. She can feel her mothers hand resting next to her face. She reaches out but finds nothing and the illusion escapes into the undergrowth. 
 
 In the chaos of harsh, damp greens her hand rests gently on the edge of her rooted refuge. A soft, pink grain of humanity horribly ineffectual against the background of cloying, unthinking growth and effluvia. 
 
 It can smell it. 
 
 Panicked, she pulls her hand back to her chest. She begins to weep silently; what a terrible mistake. 
 
 Whatever it is, she feels a connection to it. She knows when she has made herself known, when she has revealed something to it and, somehow, her awareness lends itself to it's knowledge. Like a lucid nightmare, she has the sense that the horror that stalks her is irrevocably bound to her. In that way, she has control. But she's getting weaker; she is stricken. It's only a matter of time. 
 
 There it is. She closes her eyes. 
 
 Far below her branch, a vast weight moves. It shifts unsteadily, unevenly. Sometimes with impossible speed. At other times, it waits. 
 
 She's never seen it. She has an awareness, on some level, that that would necessarily mean giving herself to it. Though it is sometimes, in the deepest fevers, a temptation. But she feels it. 
 
 She imagines a dense darkness; substance and emptiness flickering around one another in a vicious dance. Sometimes it will have things recognisable as legs, hair and teeth but none of them necessary to it's being. She has no doubt she is responsible for these aspects of this presence. 
 
 As it weights a horrific noise begins to ooze from its bulk. Rebecca turns onto her back. Something deep within her, something irreducible, wishes to see the sun. 
 
 Light and warmth laps her face as the bellowing roar envelopes her. She can see the canopy above her falling, the trees around her crunch and rattle as they are dragged to the ground. 
 
 Around her the jungle melts into the ground. The thick, moist barrier to the celestial warmth is removed and she is bathed in light. 
 
 The sickening roar stops. 
 
 For a moment their is absolute silence. 
 
 She takes the time to smile. Or perhaps she is given this time by whatever it is that has finally managed to isolate her form. 
 
 Her smile remains painted, her eyes fixed skyward, as she begins to fall.
