You run toward the woods with so much speed your legs almost betray you. The stumble slows you momentarily and you quickly glance over your shoulder to measure how much distance you've covered. Without missing a beat, you continue, in full sprint, toward the wood line and cover of the trees.
The thick, intertwined shrubs that divide the grass from the woods snag your pants and rip them as you pull through. It's cooler and darker underneath the canopy of the trees. You fall to the ground in a prone position, your chest heaving in and out, every labored breath. Silently surveying the landscape, as you get your breath back, you hear the crackle of twigs nearby. You press your lips together tight and freeze.
The violent ambush happens so fast. You can't move. It's on top of you. It's too strong, too heavy, too motivated. You screech, kick, flail your limbs, and try to gouge it's face. At first the feeling is a sharp pain, but it quickly numbs, and then you just feel cold. It's over in seconds. Too weak to think, everything goes black.
