My face and neck perspire as I sprint away, my heart pounding so hard in my chest, I think it may burst. That thing-the thing with the narrow pupils-is after me. With any glance it steals my way, I shudder in fear as if those eyes could send me straight to hell themselves. The adrenaline pumps through my body, and my feet forcefully collide with the cracked, gray cement blurring away in my peripheral vision. It is an understatement to say I am terrified as I am running for my life. The thing grips a knife in his right hand that is in a coat of a crusty, brown substance of which I can only assume is dry blood.
My mind is racing with all different kinds of thoughts, but all deal with an untimely end. What if I trip and fall, allowing him to catch up with me? What if I become short of breath and fail to continue escaping? What if he miraculously catches up to me and grips my neck until it snaps in half? What if he drives that knife so deep in my chest I can feel the blood drain so painlessly from my body? I must remind myself to breathe evenly and that the one chasing me will not catch me even though he is bigger, and stronger, and faster.
"STOP!" I command myself as it echoes in my mind. I glance back at my pursuer with the sweat rolling down his forehead, his veins bulging from his tan skin, his knuckles, white from gripping the stained knife, an evident sleeve of sadistic tattoos trailing both his toned arms also marked with gruesome scars covering his flesh from head to toe. In my opinion, he looks like an escaping convict on the run. I sharply turn my head back forward, my heart racing more at the sight of him. He lets out a skin-crawling cackle as I jump out of my skin. I have to get away from this man thing.whatever it is.
My feet are growing weary now, and my face and body are drowning in sweat; I must rest. Across the street, I can now see an alleyway that was even shady in this sunlight.