My sneakers pound on the cement. I breath in ragged gasps that tear my lungs to shreds. I resist the urge to look behind me as I run. Tears are dragged out of my eyes. I try desperately to blink them away.
The warehouse is much bigger than I thought it was. Boxes fly by as I pass them. Beams and posts do, too. The doorway at the far end doesn't seem to get any closer.
My chest and legs burn, so, so bad. I keep running. I start to develop a limp, but I keep running. Claws seem to tear at my lungs from the inside, ruthless and hungry.
Shadows leap and flicker at me. I hear no noises not made by me. No noises, save for the footsteps.
Step, step, step.
I run fast, pounding and limping. I run as fast as I can. But the footsteps don't speed up. They walk, but never fall any farther behind. I can hear them.
Step, step, step.
So close.
Step, step, step.
Is the door farther away?
Step, step, step.
I can almost hear soft breathing. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Step, step, step.
At my heels.
Step, step.
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Dreams
PoetryA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
