Residuum

The heavens were black. Turned to stygian darkness, with the caress of the moon and the shine of the stars, imprisoned behind the clouds' reign. The sky filled the streets of the city below with its tears, and the soft lighting of the street lamps provided the only aid it could against the obsidian attack.

A blanket of quiet filled the city, marred only by the sounds of the constant thrumming of water against the ground. The roads, deserted, as though a spell had casted itself on the residents of the town.

Then a shadow of movement raced, accompanied by the rushing footsteps of the boy who ran.

His heart pounded, his breathing was erratic, his sweat mingled with the water clinging to him.

It was only a matter of time but he refused to consider the consequences of what would happen if his body failed him, as the darkness crept up to snatch him away. . . His mind shrank away from it, his body quivered.

He sped, going as far as he could and farther still, all the while that echo of being, gained.

Then his legs betrayed him and he was thrown to the ground, his arms scrambling to catch himself. Even as he stood he knew it had arrived, and the only thing that screamed through his mind, was run.