CATCH UP
He thinks that wasn't so hard, you still have time to catch up with her if you hurry, find a way out, if you run, run, run, as the winged creature at his back rises from its destroyed cocoon with a blood-curdling screech.
He thinks something has hit him, hard, making him stumble, winding him. He thinks what the f… as the long sting impales him, cutting clean through his body, as the tip emerges from his abdomen, stone cold and spotless because it's been wiped clean with the rag of his own flesh.
He thinks it hurts it hurts It Hurts IT HURTS, as it recedes tearing tissue and ripping nerves and severing blood vessels. He thinks the room is lighting up in a white hot blinding flare of pain. He thinks he IS the pain. He thinks he is screaming, deafeningly so, but there's no air left in his lungs to produce such a scream. He thinks he IS that silent scream, as his hand launches the hissing blade, the lethal steely bird avid for blood, only it's flying too late.
He thinks you're all right, see, no blood, run now, as the t-shirt flaps briefly against his skin, such a little hole. He thinks it's just shock, get moving, nothing happened, move, MOVE, as blood starts seeping through his spread fingers, warm, wet, sticky.
He thinks you're a mess man, as limbs go numb.
He thinks he'll just get a tiny little rest, just a couple of minutes, then he'll run after her, he's still enough time to catch up.
He thinks he'll be all right if he manages to force some air into his lungs. He thinks air is made of fire, as his legs collapse, as his kneecaps shatter against the stone floor, causing no pain because he already IS pain.
He thinks he's running along a beach, feet sinking deep into damp sand, as he starts coughing up blood. He thinks the tide is coming in, and it's crimson. He thinks he's lying in water, gazing at the white disc of the sun, and someone is cradling him gently. He thinks mummy.
He thinks hold me dad. I'm dying.
He thinks she's too far away already anyway, I won't be able to catch up, as he glimpses her swaying braid, lashing the air like a tiny snake in the distance.
He thinks he's sinking, and then he thinks no more.