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Their breath was hollow and sharp, reaching desperately for each breath as the cold air pierced their lungs and sent needles down their throat. The footsteps echoed against the cracked pavement as they ran through the streets of midnight London. The air around was silent, still, and eery. Their heart thumped deafeningly in their ears as the blood coursing through their body burned cold inside of them.
From what? Some may ask. Only the cloaked figure knew. As it rushed fervently past the old-bricked buildings, their footsteps grew more and more isolated, echoing accompanied only by its gasps of air as their coat trailed behind them and their boots yelled loud on the pavement.
The streets the figure swept through became cold and dark, for the streetlights that had once accompanied their shoes on the footpath were now lightless as if they had been blown out like a candle light.
The strayed curtains from left open windows danced in the sudden wind, soon resting as they found stillness. The figure turned its second corner, and while the night was quiet their thoughts were loud and quickening by each second.
The air was becoming out of reach for its lungs and as the darkness grew closer, silently destroying everything in its grasp, the figure took one last turn around the paved corner and disappeared.
The airy gasp that had just left their mouth was left alone, hanging in the air as all that was left for evidence of them ever being there was the airy, light wisp of grey smoke that even too, soon billowed away through the midnight air.
Somewhere else, however, somewhere entirely different.
