Hunted

320 16 2
                                    

~Fresh

The snow managed to cool down the pain, and nothing was really too damaged. But, I know that without a host, I'm stranded, no way of communication, no way to eat, and no way to get out. Alone, in the snow, that psychotic Sans, probably hunting me down right now. Each shadow above me moving, scaring me, sometimes resembling a person, along with the wind, resembling whispering, all making things so much worse. So much fear and pain inside of me.

If he's near, he can hear the snow, shifting as I'm shivering from the cold, and from the fear of my fate. All I can do now, hide, heal up, and find a host, quick. I can't stay here any longer, each second, thinking that he's getting closer.

When he once called me "friend", I long for that now, just so I don't have to live through him stalking me. Checking everywhere from my hiding spot, watching the shadows, he won't stop until I'm dead. For once listening for the tiniest bit of sound, footsteps, the sounds of attacks powering up. This is now vital to my survival. I thought that the light between the shadows can guide me, but they may be the reason I can't see him.

With all this, I can only imagine, those claw-like hands, grasping onto me, with his wicked eyes, burning. I know that it's too late, I can't outrun my fate. Everything turns frightening, my small body, tightening.

Everything flowing into me at once, I couldn't handle it, until my fear was unleashed. All the paranoia echoing into my head. Shaking, even more, everything going black, so much fear to set in. As I just kept repeating again and again, in my head, I'm going to die. It just coming out as low, quiet shrieks, because I'm not able to communicate outside the host's body. I can't even think straight anymore, I blocked everything in the outside world out, I could feel myself crying, I didn't even know that was possible. I begin to feel sick, thinking of exactly how I'll die. I couldn't see, hear, or physically feel anything anymore, as I kept slipping into my thoughts, still thinking, I'm going to die a slow and painful death.

PerspectiveWhere stories live. Discover now