The Pursuer: Cold (Short Story

January 22, 2018
By Anonymous

It was mid-January. The frozen air was pinching at my body. It seemed to bite and smack at my skin; seemingly trying to make me colder.

My calloused feet and toes dug into the solidified water as I ran as fast as they could take me. The air whipped past my hair, smacking my cheeks as I sped on. The occasional insects that pricked my skin replaced the feeling of the syringes. 

At last, I fell to the snow, panting and out of breath. I then turned around, panicking and searching for my pursuer. My head was pounding, my calves shaking and my pores sweating.

I stood up, raising my arms to the sky in triumph and glee. Although I was still breathing heavily, my journey was not yet over. I began walking towards the tree, and right then I felt a piercing pain in my side. An arrow was bent at an odd angle, sticking out of me as blood poured down me. I looked up for what seemed to be my last time...

It was my pursuer.


The author's comments:

(There are two additions to this story, see my page for the second)


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