Run!

Reads: 225  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 6

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: BoMoWriCha Prompts
Written for a challenge at the BoMoWriCha Prompt House.

Submitted: November 03, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 03, 2018

A A A

A A A


Run!

Friday morning arrives and after four days of constant drizzle the sun is out. It won’t be warm, I know that, not at this time of year. A dry and sunny day can only mean one thing; it’s going to be cold, chillingly so.

Ah, well, at least I’m not going to get soggy and damp. I’ll put on a different jacket, a thicker one that is not water-proof but is definitely warmer. Gloves too, for one thing I hate is for my hands to get too cold. Boots on and I’m ready.

Every Friday morning I go out for a brisk stroll. It clears my head, sets me up for the weekend and makes me feel like I have earned a tiny little bit of self-indulgence. It’s still quite early in the morning; late enough to have missed the school runs, and the early-morning commuters and shoppers. Those who can indulge in a lay-in, they’ll still be snuggled up under their covers.

Shutting my door I set off. No jogging for me but I will keep up a pretty fast pace of walking. I need to get my lungs and my heart working harder, clear out the old air and fill up with new. At the start my legs will cramp a bit but I know from experience that soon the muscles will give in and stretch.

Quite a distance can be covered in half an hour when you set a brisk enough pace and keep to it. I let my mind concentrate on the moment, so much so that I’m not sure when I first hear those steps pitter-pattering their way towards me. For now they are still a long way off but I’ll be listening now, ready to move to the side to let the jogger pass me by. It is a jogger, I presume. Now I’ve let that question in, I have to admit that I’ve made myself just that bit nervous.

What if it is a mugger? There are no witnesses around, there is no one to come to my aid. Stupid, paranoid, that’s all I’m being. Muggings and street-crime are a rare thing in these parts.

Going by the pace of the steps, this is no every-day jogger. They seem to be all-out running, I think,  as they get nearer and nearer. I turn and see a man sprinting towards me. Should I be scared of him? I wish that I knew. He does not look like he is about to attack me though. Instead, he looks panicked, scared, as though he is fleeing from someone or....something.

Am I about to get caught up in some kind of gang war or something? My pace speeds up. I don’t know why because there is no way I am going to be able to outrun this guy. I’d do better to just step aside and let him pass me by.

Decision made, I reluctantly slow my pace. His feet are still pounding up the side-walk behind me, I can feel each step now. Good, that means that soon I’ll be seeing the back of him and can resume my walk in peace.

His hand, when it grabs my shoulder, comes as a shock. Is this it? The end of my life? I can almost feel a dagger being plunged in to my back or his other hand reach forward to crush my neck. Neither of these things happen; instead he pants and gasps and says, “He’s coming! Run!”

Now I can see the back of him when I want to hold him back and ask him questions. Who is coming? Why should I run?

Too late to get any answers now, for he is already heading off in to the distance. Perhaps he’s just one of those crazies you hear about, who imagine all sorts of threats. Then again, he did not look crazy to me, just scared.

I resume my walk, pick up the pace a bit, but I cannot resist the urge to turn around and look back in the direction the man, and I, had come from. Nothing except a kid that’s coming in to view.

The kid doesn’t seem in any kind of fear or rush. He’s just walking steadily along, maybe matching my pace or going a bit slower. There can’t be anything to fear, can there.

It’s then that I notice his eyes. Red, not like from crying but like there are flames burning inside of them. Fiery eyes that speak of unimaginable pain, fathomless evil. He can’t be more than twelve years old but I am not going to linger and find out.

I don’t run, I can’t run, but that’s what I am doing. Tripping and almost falling I barely manage to stay on my feet. I’ve got to keep going, as long as I can.

There are a few others running ahead, warned by the same man that warned me, perhaps. I can’t help feeling that it’s pointless, that whatever, whoever, is following us will catch up in the end. But for now that’s what I have to do.....RUN!

 


© Copyright 2020 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Flash Fiction Short Stories