Red Sun (ON HOLD)

(1) Run

I love running. I love the peace that comes with it. I can’t be touched when I’m running. Nothing can hurt me, nothing bad can happen to me. When I’m running I don’t have to think about all of the awful things that are happening to me. I don’t have to remember everything that’s happened. When I’m running, I’m free.

In high school, I’d been the best runner in the school. I was on the tract and soccer teams every year. I wasn’t the best soccer player, but I was the best of all the tract teams in half the state.

When I ran I could go back to the times when life was simpler, times when I wasn’t running for my life. It wasn’t something I had to think about; I just did it. Natural.

I shot a quick look over my shoulder, flipping my curly blonde hair out of the way as I did so. I took in the scene behind me in the short second I was allotted. I couldn’t afford more than that. I didn’t have enough time to really get a good look at them. If I really looked behind me, I might miss something in front of me and, nine times out of ten, the thing in front of me was more important. If I have to look, I do it quickly and then think about the scene behind me afterwards.

Most of the time I don’t need to look behind me. I’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve gotten quite good at listening and paying enough attention to my surrounds that I can catch a glimpse of something in a reflection as I run by it.

I sped up, realizing that they were gaining on me. Victus Mortuus. Latin for Living Dead.

And they sure could run.

I glanced at them again, out of panic. This was strange. Victus Mortuus were stereotypical undead. Zombies. They were slow, gruesome and they limped or dragged themselves around a lot. The ones currently behind me were all holding their own against me, which never happened.

This whole day had been weird. I’d awoken this morning with a vision, which was not unusual. The vision itself, however, seemed completely random and it was unlike any that I’d had in a long time.

It was cold. I was sitting on my tattered black couch, in my usual spot. I could tell the winter had come because of the biting chill that rose goosebumps on my arms. My blonde hair was shiny, beautiful. It had it’s natural curl and it was thick and healthy, like it used to be.

I shivered and looked into the kitchen almost expectantly. In the same second, a man appeared with a blanket.

He was older than me, or at least, he seemed that way. He was nearly all muscle, his arms and torso especially bulky. He stood at least 6 feet tall, even taller than me. His black-as-night hair was cropped short and stuck up a bit in the front. His cheeks hinted at a slight baby-face but his jawline was sharp and defined. His lips were soft pink and full, for a guy. His eyes were dark, unreadable and his eyebrows were pushed into a worried line above them, casting a small shadow across his eyes. This only made them more unreadable, which made me curious as to what he was thinking, since I couldn’t read it on his face.

He placed the blanket over my shoulders, smiling lovingly at me. He bent his head and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before his lips captured mine.

The vision shifted and suddenly I was seeing it as if fro third person. I could see us on the couch like before, kissing as he held me, the blanket places carefully around my shoulders and back. I could see myself shiver visibly but something told me it wasn’t from the cold.

“Shit.” I muttered, realizing I’d been too distracted to register that I’d led myself into an alley. A dead end.

I looked around, trying not to panic. I spun, my back to the brick wall, facing the oncoming Victus Mortuus.