it chased her,
far, far from the place it had happened,
far, far into the woods,
into any place that might have offered aid.
she wore her boots,
stomping out all that she could have as she went,
feet flying across the ground in a flurry.
every leer was ringing in her ears,
a case of tinnitus which made her wonder,
'how valid are these fears?'
very valid, and rightly so,
as every time she glanced down at the screen in her hand,
she was bombarded by words of accusation,
words of rumour.
she knew,
and they (never) knew,
that rumour moves from lip to lip to lip,
capturing each bit of flora with the flicker that became a flame,
growing taller and hotter and more violent.
but now,
as they became more wild and disconcerted,
they caught onto dry blades of grass.
she ran,
but the rumours ran faster.