ponk

[oneshot] Run

Mar 19th, 2017
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  1. >You don’t think you’ll be able to outrun them much longer.
  2. >Your legs burn with lactic acid, your calves are starting to cramp and your regular breathing is more and more regressing into panicked gasps for air.
  3. >Dreading the moment when your body will finally give out or one of your ridiculously high-heeled shoes decides to trip you up and send you face first into the dirt, you throw a quick look over your shoulder.
  4. >It’s dark, but even in the murky, inky twilight of your surroundings you can make out the ominous glow of red at the edge of your vision; two pairs of angry eyes informing you that your pursuers are still hot on your trail.
  5. >Tears start to sting in the corners of your eyes, the grim, stomach-turning realization of your imminent defeat worming its way into your mind with sharp claws.
  6. >They do not tire, nor will they lose your scent, their whole existence is reduced to the desire of burrowing their rows upon rows of razor-sharp, blood-pinked teeth into your soft, warm flesh, to taste your blood and leave your mangled and broken body for the scavengers.
  7. >And it’s only a poor consolation that the two furious beasts about to rip you to pieces are the two last people in the world you consider your friends.
  8. >Although you can’t remember their names anymore.
  9. >You don’t remember what happened.
  10. >You don’t even know how long you’ve been running for.
  11. >Hours?
  12. >Days?
  13. >Years?
  14. >You honestly couldn’t tell.
  15. >You only know that you have to keep running unless you want to find out what it feels to be on the wrong end of the food chain.
  16. >With your breath sawing in and out of your lungs, you allow yourself another cautious look over your shoulder.
  17. >The cold pit in your stomach warning you about losing your footing comes too late.
  18. >Futilely flailing your arms to somehow regain your balance, you crash to the floor, skidding over the rough ground and tearing up your stockings.
  19. >No.
  20. >Your knees and legs sport several ugly lacerations, but you don’t care about that.
  21. >You don’t care about the warm blood trickling down your thighs or the throbbing pain slowly working its way into your hindbrain.
  22. >All you care about is looking over your shoulder in terror and finding the shadows of your hunters again.
  23. >Come on, get up!
  24. >Pushing yourself up with ruined hands, you try to regain your footing while frantically searing for the glowering eyes.
  25. >There!
  26. >In the darkness, you can make out the two sets of red sparks announcing your immediate demise, their owners pushed into a murderous frenzy by the sight of your fallen-down form and the tang of your blood on the breeze.
  27. >They’ll catch up to you.
  28. >You almost manage to push yourself up when the heel of your right boot finally gives out, the stupid fucking thing breaking away with a sickly crack and a shower of ruined plastic.
  29. >You lose your footing again, falling back down, reduced to crawl and stumble forward as fast as you can in an attempt to get upright once more.
  30. >Then you feel it.
  31. >The cold sensation of long, slender and brutally clawed fingers closing around your ankle.
  32. >You jerk your head back, suppressing a scream at the image of one of your hunters lying on the ground, her arm stretched out to its limit, her hand firmly grabbing you in a vice-like demonstration of strength, her lips sporting a bloody, triumphant grin.
  33. >A butcher’s sneer.
  34. >You try to struggle and rip yourself free, but the cackling girl with the twintails pulls you back with a simple jerk, dragging you to the ground again.
  35. >You’re caught.
  36. >You’re dead.
  37. >Out of the corner of your eye you see the second girl standing over you, her bellowing laugh revealing her pointy, gore-flecked teeth.
  38. >Paralyzed by your shock and terror, you can see her bending down in what feels like slow motion, your vision fixed on her teeth, her claws, her unnaturally glowing eyes.
  39. >You can’t stop the tears running down your cheeks.
  40. >With a white-hot stab of pain, your reaper stretches out her fingers and lightly taps you on the shoulder.
  41. >”Tag! You’re it, Dagi!”
  42. >You blink, looking around in confusion to find Aria and Sonata standing over you, both grinning victoriously.
  43. “Fuck!”
  44. >Why do your games of tag always have get so out of hand?
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