Leaving (3)

She was fading quickly. The ivory white blended with her gown, the rate she was sprinting tells me that it was impossible to reach her. The distance is too long, my speed was too slow – for some queer reason nature had a way of sucking people into unfathomable dimensions, and she was one of the unfortunate experiments. I was just the control experiment, lacking of any reactants to push me forth. All I could see were the splashes she makes while running; the accelerating pace of her footsteps; the swaying of her soaked hair –

Something protruded my skin. Stabbed, to be more accurate. The stinging sensation rushed up, the sharp pain mangled with my frustrations, overwhelming my nerves. I looked back just to see tiny needles prickling my legs, these tiny objects covering most of my back, forming dots of blood and painting wiggly, irregular streaks of bright red. My vision started to blotch in crimson, the sourness of blood wafting to my nostrils, my thighs felt so powerless and tired. The needles kept sticking onto my skin, piercing my veins and blotching my pale skin with candy red coloration. The red came flooding in, at first drop-wise, then forming a puddle, and further on the road, began to faze in with the water.

It was pitch dark.

 

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