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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
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((A green figure still running))

,she was exhausted. The pain in her shoulder became a line of purulent stitches through her breast, down the heaving, broken contour of her rib cage.

Noises all around, behind her, the noises like the monster under the bed or inside the closet or outside the window were perpetually closer and closer.

She breathed hard for each breath, wheezing and sobbing for oxygen that fled her lungs quickly as it came, and she couldn't possibly breathe enough. Her forearms were scratched, lacerations of reds and nasty yellows and stings and splotchy pulsations and she continued to abuse herself, her body as her only means of escape as she lashed out at the overgrowth that stood in her way, still running with guns and bullets on her body clattering and clanging

always running

He's still behind you.

A house ahead but Rachael ran past, stumbling, scraping, begging without a sound; another face would only be another set of footsteps galloping after her like the steed of Death so she kept running but not matter how she ran there was

something always behind her and always watching, always waiting
((Blaine Eno continued))
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