The Dangerous Game: A Fictional Narrative

He knew his pursuer was coming; he heard the thumping sound of feet on the soft earth, and the night breeze brought him the perfume of the general’s cigarette. It seemed to Rainsford that the general was coming with unusual swiftness; he was not feeling his way along, foot by foot. He saw through the bushes and thick trees, a small man approaching him. This man seemed a bit more rawboned than Zaroff’s larger, more manly build. “Rainsford?” questioned the mysterious man in a quite skittish voice. “Rainsford, is that you? It’s me, Whitney,” he said. Rainsford bolted out from his hiding, revealing himself to his lost acquaintance. His feeling of relief was immense. He was going to escape the island. “We must keep our voices
And who is this “General” fellow you speak of?” “He is hunting me down, trying to kill me. He plays this sick game where he hunts down humans for fun. We must be hasten to get out of here.” They took off, darting toward the eastern side of the island. The sky hung over the island like the deep sea, infinitely deep, extending on forever. Rainsford wasn't exactly sure where they were headed, but he was following in the footsteps of Whitney, letting him lead the way to his safety. Slowly, they were approaching a cove shaped region to the island. Zaroff had said that the whole area surrounding the island was a ship trap, full of jagged rocks. This cove had a sandy beach and water as clear as they sky above. “Where is the ship?” questioned Rainsford as he gazed around, realizing it was missing. Whitney whipped his head around, realizing what Rainsford had just said. “I am pretty positive that I had it anchored down right here in the side of the cove. I’m not quite sure where it has gone.” Whitney was scanning his eyes all along the shore line, searching for their ship. The wind was crying through the branches of the trees, almost as if it wanted them off the island as much as they wanted off