Run.

 I had one thought. Run.I darted into the house. And though they ran so fast and determined, it felt relaxingly calm to be alive in my old family home again. Blinding lights flashed before me leaving constant ringing in my bashed eyelids and vibrant stains in each hurtful blink, moments of my past life reoccurred in my dazed giddy brain pushing dozens of unpleasant images into my sight.

They followed just behind as my tiered legs battled furiously against the many steps of my beloved staircase. As I reached the near landing it now suddenly felt unknown for all the historical books, most of which I had read as a young child, had been pulled out and their dainty pages strewn around the room. The bunch of blood red roses sitting silently in their gleaming glass vase were overthrown leaving tiny splinters of pointy glass as small and sharp as pins scattered on the ground with the rose petals and thorny green stems gathered too.

I could only run through the needles of glass and all the spiky thorns, so my feet rancid with pain however I had no choice but to keep running.

My old safe room had seemed so close before but now was like a distant hill or mountain I could just see, a mirage in the desert, a fuzzy unclear scene on the horizon. Nevertheless the door handle soon grabbed my blood-covered hand and pulled my small exhausted feeble body in.

My bedroom was buzzing and crowded with my childhood, all my hopes and fears, aims and goals, dreams, desires and wishes lay here leaving a humble but lost feeling in my battered heart.

As quick as a flash I grabbed a stainless wooden chair, one with a cute teddy bear with a letter dice in its paws design carved into it, and shoved it against the toddlers door to protect me.

My weak dying figure collapsed onto the hard chestnut floorboards leaving blood stains as red as the juicy cherries in mama and papa's old summer jam splattered everywhere. My throbbing head cracked as it thumped dangerously against the firm cabinet behind, my poor feet so red, the colour reminded my of papa's Sunday wine, with blood, writhing with agony, suffering with bitter hurt. Everything was aching with each battering pound of each beat of my heart fixed with strong stinging tottering me in every scar, scratch and bruise. Life hurt.

My hands lay aimlessly but my weak eyes travelled so fast around the room until they found the fireplace. I stopped breathing at the sight of it. The clock on the mantelpiece had stopped, I now knew my life was ending, she had told my that when it stopped I would be gone and now the seconds went so slowly its time was finishing.

The door heaved open and a sudden light so gleaming and alight appeared. The raging nymphs edged closer to my tiered, lonely frame sniggering at their final victory, their sharp teeth dripped in others blood, probably my families, loomed forward to mine.

Tongues so navy blue and evil lashed out of their vicious mouths smiling at the tempting scent of my unprotected human blood.

I had failed my task and soon they'd be rulers. My eyes flashed to the clock. It stopped.

Pain hit me.

Peace.