You think you're going to make it.
You hope you're going to make it.
But I'm right behind you.
Coming fast.
And you know you might not make it.
You can feel my heavy footsteps shake the ground behind you.
You're trying to run faster than you know you can run.
You're going to fail.
You're going to fall.
And I'm going to get you.
You are trying not to think about what it will feel like when I catch you, but your mind cannot think of anything else.
You're trying to block out the thoughts.
The pain.
Will it be quick?
Will I hurt you or will you be spared and die immediately?
You know that you will not have the luck to drop dead immediately.
You know you will feel my attack.
How bad will it be?
How much will it hurt?
What was that?
Did I just touch your back?
Between your shoulder blades?
A light scrape?
You think if you run harder you can escape me, or collapse and die trying.
The idea is certainly appealing to you.
But you know you cannot run yourself to death.
I'll catch you first.
I'm already so close.
Yes, that's my hot breath you smell.
Yes, it really is that bad and it will be much much worse soon.
Your mind is a mess, falling to pieces.
Your entire body aches impossibly as you push yourself harder than should be possible.
I am calm.
Certain of my victory.
The sound of the alarm is welcomed for the first time ever.
At first you are confused.
Then you are in disbelief.
Did you really escape me?
Was it really a nightmare?
Are you really awake now?
If so, why does your back still tingle where I touched you?