creative writing

Running

Running as hard as I can through a dark and treacherous woodland, barefoot, hair flying wildly behind me. Feet tangling in the undergrowth, roots reaching out to trip me with every staggered step I take. Falling I put my hands out to catch my fall, adding to the grazes and bruises already there, knees scraping against the rough ground and crying out in pain but there is no time to stop and assess the damage. I have to keep going, keep running because it is coming. A hideous and monstrous beast, I can hear it right behind me, feel the hot breath on the back of my neck. I put everything I can into running faster, twisting and turning through the trees trying to lose my murderous adversary. No matter what I do, how fast I run, how many trees I try to put between myself and it, I know it is coming. Gaining on me fast and it won’t be long until it has me in his grasp. Maybe I should just give up and let it have me, nothing it could do to me could be worse than this feeling, my skin prickling, all the fine hairs standing on end all over my body. The worst case scenarios running through my mind as I desperately try to get away. Each laboured breath ripping through my chest, muscles burning, bleeding and bruised. I’ve been running for hours, days. I don’t know how long, time has slowed to a stop trapping me in this endless game of pursuit and there is only one way to end it.

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