They're coming for me. It's too late to run. The growls are low, cruel and steady, an unending fury that echoes across the night and into the marrow of my bones. I shiver, helpless and alone.
Light flashes across the trees as they get closer. My head is burrowed between my knees. I'm unwilling to witness my death. They could strike when I can't see, I prefer that.
Preference it's a funny thing. We prefer to laugh, to be loved, to smile. Instead, we're hated without being known, attacked without being understood and beaten without a cause. Life doesn't care about what we prefer. And neither do the giants hunting me.
Maybe it's a good thing that I'm so small; they might not find me under the roots of the tallest tree. A torrent of hail bursts from the sky, crumbling around me viciously. Is the sky angry at me too for merely existing?
The grumbles are getting louder; they sound like screams. I'm tempted to release my own guttural noises, but I do not want to be found, so I compress them against my ribs. I can smell the earth burning under their heavy feet, scorched and crushed.
I know the grass would prefer a bright sunny day, free from their oppression. But preferences do not matter, and neither does our lives.
*****
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Through The Fog
القصة القصيرةA collection of short, sharp, immersive fiction. #experimental Highest rankings: #1 flashfic Backstory: My grandfather was an avid reader. He died suddenly on May 2nd 2021, having read nothing I've written. This is how I choose to honour his life a...
