He was running.
He didn't know where,
all he knew was why.
They were after him. Every single one of them. He didn't know how they found him, or how they even knew who he was. All he could hear were the thuds of their mangled limbs hitting the ground as they scrambled after him and their scratchy, whisper-like voices calling his name, beckoning him to come back so they could tear him up from the inside out.
"Come back, come back...." they called. "This game is close to its end..." He blinked tears away as he ran faster, hoping and praying for a miracle, for someone to find him and help him. As he runs harder, he doesn't notice the root projecting from the ground. His foot comes in contact with it, and he falls, hitting his head on the ground. As his vision blurred and darkened, he heard their scrambling getting closer. He let out what he assumed to be his final words.
"Its not over."
He jolted up and looked around. He was in his bed, in his home. Was it all a dream? He sighed with relief. Everything was going to be ok. Then, he heard the sounds of mangled limbs crawling across the floor coming from the hall. His door creaks open and the shaky, whispering voice calls out.
"Game over."
A/N:
This is just a darker little story I wrote. I would appreciate feedback in the comments!
