April 27, 2015

You fling yourself into the ditch and burrow frantically, covering yourself with fallen leaves. Your heart hammers in your chest. You hold your breath and tremble in silence. The horses thunder by. You wait. You wait. You wait until you can wait no more. You gasp, take in air with a shuddering sob. They’ll be back, you think. You must hurry. You stand. The night is dark. You creep through the woods, quivering, tense with concentration. An opening. A glade. You move around the circle, staying glued to the treeline, eyes fixed on the little cottage sitting in the center of the clearing. Yes, it’s there, as she said. Is it really your salvation? Do you dare hope? You peel yourself from the treeline, drop to the ground, and crawl. You reach the cottage door, push at it. It creaks open. A candle.

robot helm

There she is. You die.

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