Tattered britches made way to the worn body of a withered man. He exhaled and inhaled rapidly, doing his best to keep going. Frequently, he would look back behind him as if he was checking up on an advancing predator. He was thin, worn and dirty. His filthy hair clung to his sweaty unkempt face. He struggled to remember who he was, where he had come from and why he was running. His mind raced with empty thoughts. All he knew was that he had to run. He had to keep going and get as far away from the direction from where he had come. He didn’t know why. He just knew that he had to. Somewhere behind him, a flock of disturbed birds flew out from a thicket of trees. Had he been followed? He paused, only for a second, to study the dense forest. It was quiet. Sunlight crept in from the loose canopy above. He hesitated and then crept back slowly, the chill of a cool breeze swept across his bare neck. The pain came instantaneously; beginning on his neck’s left side and working its way across his chest and down his spinal column.
What do You think about Dead Men (and Women) Walking?
