I ran.
I disregarded them, understanding they were right behind me and could surely see me, and rushed to a nearby alleyway. My legs began to ache, begging for a longer moment of rest, but my brain was fueled with the overwhelming sensation of fear. My muscles throbbed unbearably with the blood racing against my bones, but I kept pushing through.
I won't die — I refuse to.
Fog blurred my vision, with every object coming off obscured to my senses. I could only see a few feet ahead of me before there was nothing but the sight of white mist peering through the moonlight. This caused me to trip on a hidden object, scrapping my knee against the street. But I didn't feel the pain, and it didn't matter. I got up and continued running into the foggy street, dismissing the feeling of a cool liquid dripping from my knees.
Only then, when I finally did see what I was sprinting to all along, it was too late.
A dead end.
Slowly, my legs came to a stop, my eyes staring in disbelief and terror at the wall in front of me, standing so magnificently before me.
No.
I was frozen in a moment, as the fear and realization consumed me. I didn't scream, nor did I hastily run back in hopes to miss them. No, I simply stood quietly in horror, knowing this was the end for me.
I thought about death a lot, and I always liked to say that I wasn't scared of it. But standing here, now confronted by the touch of death slowly trailing behind my back, along my spine, I felt afraid. I didn't want to die. I hadn't come to terms with it yet. I hadn't accepted it.
The sound of multiple footsteps was behind me again, inching its way toward me slowly.
"Why?" I whispered as I silently cried. A single tear drop slipped from my exhausted eyes, trickled steadily down my burning crimsoned cheeks, and finally plummeted against the hard concrete from underneath. It mixed with the puddle of blood dripping down my scraped knees.
"Because..." The familiar British voice broke the silent night's air, "Actions have consequences."
I slowly turned around in defeat, trembling pathetically as I watched the three of them approaching me calmly — Harry in the center, Ace on the right, and Niall on the left.
~ Prologue ~
YOU ARE READING
Filthy Cloaks / H.S.
Fanfiction"Welcome to Hard Liquor. A club mixed with a bit of intellect," Harry whispered on the crook of my neck, fanning the whisk of his warm breath on the most sensitive part of my skin. His sharp smirk gleamed prominently as blood trickled down his cheek...
