Run
Sticks and twigs snap under my feet. Sweat trickling down my face, my skin blistering.
Jump
My ankles burn but I keep going.
"Stop her!"
The echo of men and women chasing me thunder throughout the palace.
Keep fucking running.
I swallow the spit and it burns my throat. No time to breathe, no time to think. Just run.
"She's in a white dress! Don't lose her"
I look down at my attire and rip the expensive dress. I don't think before I take off the platform sharp stilettos and fling it at each of the guards by the door.
My calloused hands bleed from the fabric, me ripping the skin raw.
I rip the dress off, take my hair out of its Bobby pins, curly hair flowing out. I notice they're distracted by the shoes and sprint out of the doors.
People.
Infected.
Run.
YOU ARE READING
Infected
Ficção AdolescenteSome say marriage should only be reserved for those who are in love. Others see marriage as a business arrangement. A joining of convenience. But for this couple, their views will diminish as they face a viral infection. Here lies a traumatized wo...
