"She ran. She was running...running from them. Running from bright lights. She was in a daze, blindly sprinting, bright illuminating lights, allowing her to see her shadow, despite the time, hearing the rustle of the trees and listening to the twigs break under her bare feet, at the crack of dawn. Yet, she was shivering from the cold, teeth chattering all on their own accord. It couldn't have been helped, she was left in her bodices and underskirt and had been stripped of her dress. Were they still chasing her? She didn't know. She had escaped from a place, like a warehouse of some sort, she recalled. And there was this smell, a rancid scent, that even though she was surrounded by thorough wilderness, it was like she could presently inhale it while she sneaked in gasps of air. And it... Smelled like, sitting blood; all dried up, all evaporated—her blood.
She felt the need to stop and take a breath from running but couldn't. She happened to come to a fallen, uprooted tree, and from stretching to go over it, she then realized the large, open gash at her right rib. Within a split second, her blood curdling scream shattered the layered blanket of silence she'd made this whole duration of time. She instinctively used her hands to cover her mouth suddenly, attempting to tame the urges of yelping. She decided to go around the thicket instead, leaving her, staggering and swaying in her perpetual pain. Feet emerging from consecutive, muddy gaps, from several uprooted trees. One hand stapled to her side and the other moving the lone, lingering limbs of trees from her face, and peripheral vision.
Her pursuer's position unknown. Her own? She wasn't so sure herself.
Then there was an immense rustle in the meadow that hugged the adjacent tree, the tree she was going toward to lean on, the pain in her rib-cage, stunting her from proceeding, deterring her unable to jog, much less, walk. The trees thin out, she realized, beyond her lethargic state, but she is dizzy, she is in despair, and she's freezing, and because of the circumstances, instead of leaning there, she then flops down on it, slipping on the slimy moss beneath her. She hits her head, and in correspondence, an animal rushes out of the meadow. Her shoulder pierced, with something beyond her knowledge; nothing more concerning than the pain, consequently because she was determined to keep her palm over her rib. But this time she didn't bawl, or shout, but she did cry. She whimpered in the mud and rolled into a ball, in demand of the moment. She heaved heavily, and her heart was beating ever so loudly, yet, gradually after the moaning from the depths of her throat died down, her mouth dried and just then she heard the faint rush of water. And lights circling the area. With a thought that lingered in the rear of her mind, oddly concerning was the scenery she had thought she'd been running from this whole time.
It was almost identical...Was it possible that she wasn't even progressing in her plan of escape? She frantically stands up once more, a little more relaxed, if that was even possible and with that, unbeknownst to her, the pursuer was right there, and hesitation was no problem for him as the rusty, metallic scented knife skillfully sliced her throat from behind.