Kaya
I am running, the splinters of old, rotting branches are snapping under the weight of my feet. It smells like soil. It smells like rain. I inhale and the scent of pine cones, of woods and earth fills up my nostrils. Then it travels to my lungs. I can run forever.
Then the scent turns into something else. It turns into decay. I glance down at my bare feet to see they are covered in mud. The woods and bushes start closing in on me and I dash forward again. I pierce my skin on something, perhaps a torn or a stickling branch and I press my palm to the torn flesh.
There’s blood, trickling down my hand and I look around, frantically. I can feel him. He's there. There's someone who is standing very close to me and my feet slow down in fear and despite myself. I turn around and see him.
