For The Inspired

There

She walked briskly, pulling her thin jacket closer around her in an attempt to block out the knives of cold wind, knowing that if she didn't hurry, a far worse fate than death by exposure awaited her. Moving through a city was a bad idea; she was caked in blood and dirt, her hair looked like a bird's nest, and she was limping. She had no choice; it was either risk the chances of being stopped, or go back. She could never go back. She would never go back.

At the rate she was going, she would never even get the opportunity. She would be dead before they found her; dead, and as immovable as a stone slab. At least she wouldn't have to be there.

Her legs ached, her feet were rubbed raw from her slip-ons, which were more slip-offs. Her shoulder was burning more and more as time passed, more blood was staining the ripped sleeve that was her makeshift bandage. And suddenly, although it was the most inappropriate time ever, she wanted to laugh. A hysterical bubble rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She was going to die. She was going to die. She should be scared, but she was calm. She found it funny even.

I wonder what it will feel like. She wondered to herself. Will I be reborn somewhere, as a completely new person? Will I go to heaven? Will I go to hell?

She supposed she wouldn't have long left before she found out.