SugarBlood

Introduction

SugarBlood

(Hello everyone, I am making a new story. Because I really wanted to make my own creepy pasta character of sorts. So here goes.)

A hooded individual fled down a hollow, dark alleyway. Her sneakers ripped on the pavement as she tore down further into the darkness. Her pursuers shouted as lights flashed and flickered off the dark walls. She would have been blinded had she not just been running in open daylight. She dived into a nearby dumpster, tugging down the heavy metallic lid. She felt it give and respond to gravity with a clang as she ducked down. 

She buried herself in as deep as she could, the hollering coming closer. "Where'd she go?"

 "She couldn't have gone far!" yelled another.

 "Are we even sure that's her?" one questioned.

 "Don't be stupid, of course it's her!" The voices and the scratching of their feet slowly faded from her range of hearing. 

Once she was sure they'd moved away, she put her ear up to the side of the metal dumpster, listening for noise just in case they were attempting to trick her. She shoved upwards against the garbage dumpster lid, and it responded with a groan. 

Cool, fresh air washed over her face, settling upon a chill due to the sweat beginning to encase her skin.

 She looked around, her head barely going above the dumpster's edge. Once she was convinced it was safe to come out, she swung her legs over the dumpster's edge, and slid down from the top of the dumpster. 

Her sneakers scrunched against the friction of small rocks under her weight, and the pavement she had landed on.

 The noise caused her to flinch.

 She stalked up to the edge of the alleyway, flinching when people got to close when they passed her, free to move in the daylight. 

Daylight.

 It was something she had made the mistake of taking for granted, like all the others before her. She stood there against the wall, watching people go about their daily routines of shopping, work and commerce. Sadness waved over her as she recalled the distant memories that she used to follow those same routines. She held her hands out before her, gazing down at them. 

The hands had been at least human looking a couple weeks ago. 

She closed her hand over one of the many black crossed veiny marks on her skin. Her pale skin. To think, they were even human looking once. Running in the dark was not always what her life was like.  Or what it used to be.