Coundon, Coventry, West Midlands, England
My heart thudded and my feet landed hard on the ground. I ducked, avoiding all manners of weapons, anything from arrows to spears. The angry mob on my heals had been hot on my trail for well over an hour, and the baking sun was beginning to take its hold on me. Sweat poured off my face by the bucket load, but I couldn’t stop.
The terrain around me had changed constantly. I had first been running through a series of cramped alleys, which had had to slow my enemies. But now the terrain was open and bare, the very grass discoloured from the persistent heat. There was nowhere to hide now.
I checked my quiver and found that I had a good number of arrows, at least thirty. I readied one within my bow and, not slowing for a second, took aim over my shoulder.
The arrow didn’t hit where I had aimed but had instead pierced one of their shoulders. I had hoped this might slow them down. It only increased their pace out of anger.
If only they realised how wrong they were, then they wouldn’t pursue me.
Of course, men are the blindest species on the planet to the truth. They pretend to embrace and welcome the truth, but in fact, as I realise right then, they are willing to blame anyone for any reason.
I tried to save him; I would never have hurt him.
Another spear brought me back to reality. I took a deep breath as I narrowly avoided it. A fleeting glance at the crowd let me know how close they were.
I bit my lip in frustration, drawing blood, but continued to run, the sickly taste dribbling into my mouth.
Reaching for my water pouch, I felt another pain as I saw it was empty. I hadn’t eaten in two days, and all this running was going to leave me dehydrated fairly soon.
However, there were no trees to be seen, and my pursuers were catching up.
Another arrow was loosened, but it missed me by a few inches. The poor aim showed me how fast they were actually going.
My breaths were rapid and shallow. Triumphant cries from my followers alerted me to how they had noticed my slowing pace. I was a born runner and an experienced hunter, but this was proving to be far too much for me.
A searing pain echoed from my leg, confirming a hit that I already feared from their cheering.
Well then, this was it?
So this is what hell feels like? Being pursued by murderous people of your own kind?
You know what? I wouldn’t have cared as much if I had done it.
I killed the assassin, but I didn’t shoot the victim.
The one thing I didn’t allow them was my tears, as they began hacking away at me, determined to finish me as slowly as possible. The grins on their faces as they watched the life force leave me.
Anger was my last emotion; my last injustice.
Human nature, I guess...