Conundrum

Chapter 13

      He was chasing someone, following the barely discernible silhouette in the surrounding darkness. The person's shoulder length hair whipped against their back as they ran further and further into the black. They had started to blend into the rest of their surroundings, disappearing from his vision.

      He pushed his footsteps further into the ground, willing himself to go faster. His slamming footsteps meshed with the silhouette's, echoing against unseen walls surrounding them. Outstretching his hand, he tried and failed to grab them, stop them from running any further away from him.

His fingers curled around air.

      He silently growled at himself. He needed to catch the person, stop them from running away from him. His chest burned with the need to protect, to get the person within his reach so he could shield them from whatever danger was approaching.

      He pushed himself to go faster, but the person was still just beyond his reach. Never seeming to get closer or farther away. He was stuck just short of them. He gritted his teeth and forced his legs to move faster than they ever had before, his hand still reaching out to the person.

      His lungs burned as he pushed himself, breaths coming out in raspy pants. Pumping his legs, his footsteps fell out of synch with the silhouettes and grew in volume. But the person never looked back, never once acknowledged that he was right behind them, desperately chasing them through the near impenetrable darkness.

      He was about to try and grab them again when a countdown appeared above their head. In red, the number illuminated nothing around it but itself. The countdown started from twenty.

A second later, it dropped to nineteen.

      The apprehension in his chest grew into dread. He let out a soft sound, almost a whimper as he forced his now numbing legs to go, go, go. He coiled his back leg and sprung against the floor, trying to reach the person in one large leap.

His fingers barely grazed the cloth.

      He let out a frustrated growl and closed his eyes, forcing the tears that had begun to bead fall down his cheeks.

The numbers above the persons head reached twelve.

       He needed to stop the person, stop them from running and keep them safe. But he couldn't. He couldn't catch them, and he couldn't grab their attention. The person just kept on jogging away from him, never once faltering in their steps.

      He looked again at the numbers. The red number was five, then four, three. He needed to help the person, save them from whatever was coming. He let out another noise and prepared to leap with the last bit of his strength.

      This time – this time he was going to stop them. He was going to stop the silhouette from disappearing. He coiled again for the jump.

Three.

He leapt.

The person kept running.

Two.

He reached as far as he could go.

One.

      Light and color appeared just as the ground beneath the person fell from beneath their feet. He was able to see everything in perfect, slow motion, detail.

      He saw the persons pitch-black hair trail behind their body as they began their fall. He saw them turn up towards him, eyes blown wide in terror. Tears had beaded in the corner of them.

      Their shirt had disappeared, revealing the blood, bruises and deep cuts that coated nearly every inch of their skin.

      The person opened their mouth and screamed. That's when he recognized them. He knew that scream. He'd heard it over a wicked video, on his living room T.V.