I see a flicker of pale white and black, rushing between the trees. I follow him, with my mind pinpointed on this one important mission.
My sweatpants pocket is weighted down with my lighter and keys. I jingle as I run, creating much too much noise.
My hair in a ponytail, bangs slipping out. I blow them out of my face as I run. My ribbed tank top is drenched in sweat and adrenaline.
The crack of a branch breaking, the crunch of a leaf, sends me scurrying to a tree for cover. I feel as if I'm being watched…
Sunlight seeps into a clearing, and I follow him in. My gait is deadly, I am set out to kill. I feel like a panther, waiting to kill her gazelle.
His back turned to me, I have an open strike. I eye the stake in hand. I could do it...no, I couldn't.
He'd know I was coming, he can hear, and smell me.
I eye him wearily as he slowly turns around. His black, shoulder length hair sways gently around his face. His lips curled gently into a sinister smile. The twinkle in his eyes creating a challenge. His woman like hands are clasped tightly behind his back.
But his scent!
His scent drifts closer to me. It smells like death, like dying roses. It's sickly, acrid but humectifying and sweet. Like those last breaths before death.
My body is rigid with pre-battle energy. The rattling of the leaves sounds like soldiers and they’re drums of war.
The meadow is holding it's breath.
My lashes cast cresent shaped shadows on my cheeks. I keep my eyes downcast, not wanting to meet his gaze. I know that if I do, I will succumb.
My thoughts race and my heartbeat hitches in pace. Is this worth it? Is it worth my life? Will I win?
My fingers clench on the brown, slivered dagger; of course I will.
I hear footsteps, a few feet ahead.
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