runaway

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WHITE BELT / 100 words:

It was a terrible idea. The worst of all ideas. The worst. The absolute worst.

She was running, stumbling, racing. They were behind her. Sirens, flashlights, shouts. 

She felt blood dripping down her hands, warm, burning, hot. It wasn't hers. Not her blood, but her fault.

It was her idea, her fault, her mistake. It was supposed to be fun, full of laughter, happiness, good memories.

She couldn't breathe, her legs were failing, her hands shaking. Flashlights, memories, cries.

She was still running, without a destination, repeating the same over and over.

"I'm sorry I killed you. I'm sorry. Sorry."

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