Feet race across the slipping and scattering rocks
Falling is not an option; failing is unacceptable
The cold is blistering to the cheek
The wind is chilling to the bone
Miles ago the trail of blood had started
Cracking branches and a taunting laugh not far behind
A small head twitch to hear, eyes wide, face falling at the sight of the hooded figure too near
With a small shake: teeth clenched, eyes bore fire despite shaking hands
With a turn and planted feet, fists clenched trying to hide tremors and deep breaths fought back burning eyes
All that was left was to fight
Photos taken by: Rachel Abi Photography
I love these snippets of stories. Would love to chat with you about your writing style sometime. We need a girls date.
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