My name is Wild. I never liked it. I am iffy about nature. So wild.... eh “Wild, come down now. You can’t stay up there all day.” Father was calling. I plodded down the creaking stairs. ‘Wild. Help us!’ What was that? My father was waiting at the bottom of the old wooden steps, seeming not to have heard. Maybe it wasn’t real. ‘Wild! The animals need you! Help!’ There it was again. I suddenly felt dizzy, and grabbed the stair rails. “Sweetie, are you ok?” It felt as if the very atoms of air were all going through my skin, making tiny holes in my whole body. If felt. It hurt. So,so much. the dizziness subsided, and I snapped out of it. “Yeah, I’m fine dad” Father walked into the kitchen, me following him. What was that voice? Why did I feel ill when I heard it? And was it real? Did the animals really need help? And if they did? With what? ‘Wild! We need yo-“ The voice was scilenced with a small chirrup of alarm, but no sound ever came out of the bird again. I rushed outside, oblivious to farther’s protests. The moment I stepped over the threshold then a felt a feeling, pulling me north, I couldn’t fight it.
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