Gradually, my shoes have fallen off, and the ground feels damp and crispy under my
feet. Another branch scratches across my face. I could hardly see it until it was there,
looming out of the darkness, threatening to grab me…
Snap!
I give a start. Decide to change direction.
I lurch to the side, refusing to turn around, refusing to even so much as look at my
follower. To do that would be to accept my fate, welcome it with open arms in fact.
Instead, I block out all thoughts about the follower and concentrate on running.
A light in the distance. Yellow. Bright. A beacon of hope on the nearing horizon. I
gasp out loud, heart awakening from its deep slumber of hopelessness, brain
snapping alert and ready once more. A determined smile spreads across my face,
warming my senses, firing up my hope. I begin to run. And then I trip.
I fly towards the floor, hands flying out to break my fall. Too late. My head hits the
ground. Hard.
Disoriented, I manage to lift my head weakly, bright lights dancing before my eyes.
There. Standing. No, levitating? Watching. Waiting. I try to yell, scream, do
something other than simply return the cold stare but my voice won’t work properly; a
low mumble escapes my lips. A cloak shrouded in mist. A hood concealing a face
older than time.
Watching. Judging.
Feebly, I make an attempt to get up, but without success; I am still much too dizzy to
pull myself together. No, I’m not just disoriented. I’m trapped. I continue to stare at
the unmoving follower. Somehow I know what it is telling me, what it would be telling
me if it could speak. Time’s up.
My thoughts come in short bursts. Out of time. Somehow on my feet. Crashing
through the trees. Running. Countless branches snap past my face, attempting to
break me, but I keep on running, undaunted. I would look behind me to check for my
follower, but my time is running out, is already up. My head aches, my chest heaves
as if it is being sliced in two, but I keep running. I know what I must do.
Fear threatens to choke me, but this time, instead of succumbing to its harsh, unjust
grasp, I fight it, determined to protect what is left of my sanity. I refuse to think about
it, concentrating on my yellow beacon of hope, the streetlight which is rapidly
nearing.
I am not sure how or when it happens, but finally, the cruel forest reluctantly lets me
go. I crouch, doubled over on the road with exhaustion, the wide moon shining an
ominous light on the dark tarmac ground. I almost laugh as my piercing headache
starts to ebb away, replaced with confusion and giddy relief. My follower can’t reach
me out here; if it so much as set foot upon the road, all it would take would be for me