There's no where for him to run.
Beats of sweat trembling on his forehead, he tries to swallow the iron ball lodged in his throat, blocking his airways from allowing oxygen for him to flee.
He can feel it coming. Can hear the footsteps. Can sense the hunger.
He has reached the dead end in the maze, the only way is back, back to way his doom is coming from. He tries to take a step, but his bones are weakened and his knees lock in position. The fear is turning his blood to ice, his pupils the size of the moon, the muscles in his contracting heart are straining to explode.
He is a deer in headlights, a rabbit cornered as the fox prowls to tear its limbs from the body. Pressing his back against the icy tile wall, his choked voice pleads to God. But God doesn't hear.
It's coming.
The shadow appears at the end of the looming trail, the monstrous figure reflected on the moist tiles made slippery with centuries of blood and saliva and tears of mercy.
The heavy breathing echoes, it pierces his eardrums and surrounds his brain in a black fog. He can smell it, the sweet honey musk overpowered with the blood that he knows is dripping from it's shining teeth, down the purple veined arms.
It steps into the flickering orange light before him, and his heart bursts, dropping down to the pit of his pitifully groaning stomach.
The burning eyes blaze on him, the cruel lips contort into a wicked grin. The taste of death melts on its ravenous tongue.
It opens its mouth, now so close he can feel it's hot breath ruffling his sweat soaked hair.
'Nothing beats a first kiss.' It whispers.
Then it pounces.