One Eye Open
He can't shake the feeling that something is watching him.
Something.
Not someone.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he can feel each one, sense it, as if his entire body is alight with the prickling sensation of a thousand microscopic threads on his skin.
He blinks. Darts his eyes around, searching the darkness.
Again nothing is there but the feeling stays strong.
Something is watching him.
He cautiously lowers himself to the dirt, ignoring how the dank smell of it fills his nostrils. He shifts slightly, making no noise. Silence.
He waits, listens to the night. He hears nothing but his own ragged breathing and it's the loudest thing he's ever heard.
Settling further into the dirt, he cracks an eye open and attempts to get some rest.
He is still certain that he's being watched.
By morning he's tired as hell (he couldn't help but jerk to alertness at every snap of a twig) but he doesn't care.
He made it through the night.
He survived.
fin.