"Run, girl. Run!"
That’s what they always scream at the movies.
And I did. I screamed when I ran away. Boots pounding, heart thudding. My breath fogging the air in front of my face. I ran like I was supposed to.
His footsteps followed. Calm and deliberate. He was gaining. Not fast, but steady, certain. The kind of pace that says: I’ll get you. Eventually. The kind of energy that shouts "Predator!"
I ducked into an alley, the shadows half-concealing me.
He was closing in. So I stopped. What was the point in running anyway?
Dead still. Back straight. Controlling my ragged breathing, until even that sound stopped. The silence hit harder than any scream I could have made.
I didn’t move. Not yet.
Let the silence wrap around us. Tight, suffocating.
Then, I turned.
He froze.
Clad in all black, a cap hiding his face. But I could feel the confusion emanating from him. The air around us tensed. Rain started pouring. He cocked his head to the side, a little rivulet of water streaming from the rim of his cap.
I trembled, felt the scream rising, like it always did. But this one wasn’t fear. It was something older. Deeper. I screamed then, not in fear, but fury.
A war cry. Guttural. Wild. Mine.
And I ran... toward him.
He didn’t move. Not at first.
But then I saw it, just for a second.
The flinch.
I smiled.
"Run, boy. Run!"
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