Running … running in the dark. The hostile environment scrapes at her tender skin, flesh exposed, bruised and bleeding. She stops, slumped against a ghost tree, pale and great – ghostly in the cold night air. Rivulets of cold liquid run; dripping from her fevered face then falling into the dark.
Surely her heart will stop; will expire from the stress and why did her throat close up, why could her lungs not take in enough oxygen?
“I can’t. I can’t run anymore.”
Helplessly her body slid down the rough bark of the ghost tree and slumped on the damp grass - she wept. Each sob convulsed her exhausted body and as the darkness moved in, the mist gently, lovingly, embraced her with warmth – the loving arms of understanding and peace.
Her eyes closed she lifted her face into the warm breathe that washed over her.
“Please, I can’t run anymore. Please…”
Silence
From her own soft sound the whisper danced off into the night...
“I am yours…”