Running Out of Time
Panting, she turned the corner to find herself face to face with the menacing wall, its dark brick scowling at her in the pale moonlight. She looked up: the stars laughed at her from above. She looked down: the path refused to direct her where she desired. She looked left: silence sat in darkness, trapping her. She looked right:
And saw him.
His figure, blackened in the shadows, sauntered up to her, a low chuckle echoing from his chest. His face never broke through the darkness, content to hide in the shadows where he knew he belonged. “You’re running out of time, dearie,” he said. An echo reverberated around them, a faint sound resting in her ears, his words, his steps, his movement. The silence dropped away, creating a vacuum, a hole in the universe where nothing, not even sound, not even light, existed.
A scream caught in her throat as he planted himself in front of her. A chill ran through her, every inch of her body covered in goose bumps. His breath spilled into her face, the heavy odor hanging in the air. She tensed, feeling his fingers clasp around her wrist. Not a muscle moved.
“You’re running out of tome, dearie.” Another morbid reminder of what came next. If there even was a next to come. Perhaps she would never know.
Prompt: I keep thinking about how terrible I am at getting my stories written on time. That was my prompt. I’ll try to do better at setting time aside to do that.