I couldn’t stop running. I could feel the burning in my lungs and my legs were so tired they felt numb. But I still couldn’t stop. I had, somehow, lost my shoes so my feet were getting soaked on the wet grass. I probably had cuts and bruises everywhere too, from the bushes and twigs etc. Though, I guess that was mainly my fault for wearing a skirt that day. But none of it mattered. All that I was concerned with was running. Running away from him. I think, in the back of my mind I always knew he would catch me, that I would lose. He was bigger, stronger and faster than me, and he never lost. Ever. But I couldn’t give up that hope- that tiny possibility that maybe, just this once, I would beat him. That I wouldn’t give him power over me, or that satisfaction he got whenever he won. Which he enjoyed, ever so much. It was that small beacon of hope that kept my legs moving. It felt as if my legs were possessed by this small amount of hope, and just moving of their own accord. It was no longer blood running through my veins, it was determination. I had to beat him. At that very moment, it was all I was living for.
After a few more seconds, I could hear the sound of his heavy footsteps behind me. His menacing laugh piercing right through my ears, taunting me, haunting me. I pushed so hard through the pain in my chest to quicken my pace, but I just wasn’t strong enough. His footsteps got closer and closer until they were almost too loud to bear. All of a sudden I felt a sharp prodding at the centre of my spine, and I immediately came to a halt.
“Sticky toffee!” he whooped with glee. “Now you have to stay there ‘till someone gets you!”
Damn. I always lose this game.
