It Was Yellow - Carolyn Rudinsky

Running along the jungle path I was wet, tired, sore, thirsty. My feet and head were pounding. The vines lashed my face, tear-stained and bloody. The dry jungle floor crunched under my leaden steps. But to stop would surely seal my fate.

Shouts behind me drove me on. Angry, vicious, blood-curdling shouts. My blood was wanted!

I knew I had to get up out of the dense jungle floor, up to where I might have a chance. On open plains I could sprint away from these demons behind me. They couldn’t match my pace up there, my strong hind legs would carry me away from them.

Ahead, the jungle was becoming lighter, the vines and branches thinning slightly. I took a deep breath and drove myself forward.

With animal instinct I lunged forward, a new strength surging through me. If only I could get out of the jungle! I heard a mighty crash behind me but could not stop.

A last effort to run through the thinning jungle then at last I reached the sandy clearing. I sprinted away down the sandy track – and like my pelt, it was yellow.