She burst out the entrance of her old elementary school, her head ringing with their warning, and ran.

The road ahead was straight... straight into the mouth of hell.

The ferocious pounding of her feet as they thundered across the pavement and her heavy, heavy breathing -- you would think she'd be used to it by now -- were still not sufficient to drown out the roar of him behind her.

He had found her already.

She had retreated to that school as a haven from them, yet they had been waiting for her, sitting on her chairs, and the first words they said to her, mocking her, was to ask how these years of running had been. Then they advised her, don't stop running now. They could have told her sooner, could have warned her before she even stepped back into that school. She would have had more time; it wasn't too much to ask since she had only her two bare feet to flee while they had anything in their disposal to trap and catch her.

All throughout her life, people told her things too late, or never told her anything at all. Her own mother kept it a secret from her and died before she could say anything, leaving her at age seven. It had been a blazing summer day, and Mama, shielded in a straw hat and donning a summer sunflower dress, took her to the store to get her favorite strawberries. Mama had already paid for them and the carton was in her hands when suddenly a shriek pierced the lazy summer heat. Mama dropped the strawberries and screamed at her to run. There was something in Mama's voice that made her wish to flee, to bolt for the door, but the strawberries lay sadly discarded, the strawberries Mama bought for her, and she scurried to pick up the carton, but Mama was wrenching her sleeve, yet she had to retrieve the strawberries, and when she did, she pulled on Mama's hand to run, but Mama was now struggling with a man, and something about Mama's body didn't look right, and all of a sudden the faceless man flung Mama's limp body at her, and the carton of red strawberries exploded, and Mama's dying eyes whispered to run and never look back, and she did, her white shirt stained red with strawberry juice -- or was it blood? -- she ran and has been running since.

Now, her body pulsed on to run as hard as she could, even harder than on the day Mama had died. Was it the same man who had killed her Mama that was chasing her now? She didn't want to look.

Lately they had gotten even sneakier at trying to catch her. They had attacked her friends, and tried to kill her in her sleep using their own inventions or the bodies of people they killed. One morning as she had risen from bed, her dead father's skeletal hands had tried strangling her. But they knew they would have to send a real person to be able to kill her.

For ten years, she had fought them, outwitted them, and escaped them on her own. They waged war on her and she was always on defense, and she didn't even know why they hated her so much. Still, she fought and fought, and each attack was like a drip drop in the bucket of fear, making ripples but never spilling over. So the bucket continued filling up, drop by drop, over these ten years on her own, and it just so happened that this one drop hit the surface and the entire bucket could no longer hold it in, tipping over and splattering the droplets of fear all over. She felt the cold fear spill quietly down her spine and she knew that she had better fight today like she never had or else it would be game over.

Up ahead she saw the straight road diverge into two: the first, a continuation of the road, and the second, a left turn to who knows where.

She decided to take the left turn.

There were people outside their houses doing summer lawn work or gardening. It was very quiet; there were crickets but they made no chirps. The sun shone hotly.

She screamed for help.

Some people heard her cries and slowly turned towards her. They looked at her and saw her, and they saw her relief and her fear, and then quietly, they turned away.

As her pleas for help drowned under the sound of him just footsteps behind her, she understood.

People would see her body torn with despair, would look at her face with desperate tears streaming down and would even hear her screams for help, but they would never understand her and would never help her.

As her screams quieted and her sore throat calmed, she knew that she could die in front of them and they would not care.

As the struggle left her legs and she crumpled onto the burning pavement, she knew that she would end up just like her Mama -- the sweetest woman in the world.

As he caught up to her, she knew that all her life, all her struggles, had been working up to this one moment. The road had been laid out for her; all she could do was follow it. It didn't matter whether or not she had made the turn and kept on running straight, or if she even left the school through another exit. She could have just simply stayed in the school and make it easier for them. No matter what she did, it would have all led to the same outcome.

As he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, she smiled at the blazing sun and whispered, "At least I do not have a child."

She was dead before she could finish her words.

-END-

Hey guys, hope you liked that piece. A bit dark, no? It was based on a nightmare I had.

I have no idea what to name this so any suggestions are welcome. :]

These are also original characters so I am not quite sure what category to put this under. I know this is a fanfic site but I wanted to share this with you guys hehe.

- Helen