After I decided to write a post everyday, the first post I wrote took me about two hours, the second a little over an hour, and all following posts took somewhere around half an hour. I also notice that except the first post, they all follow the same theme. All these posts have been short two-minute bites that give you a little to think about and then leave you feeling good. Those are the kind of posts I love writing most but I think that since I have over twenty posts still to write, I should try different things. Sadly it’s 11:40 right now and that means that I’ll have to wrap this post up in under twenty minutes if I have to put up a post for the Fifth of December. I think I’ll be a little lenient about that and cheat and set the time of this post as 11:59 no matter what happens. Because it’ll make me feel good, but mostly just because I can. Let’s begin.

The following post is entirely a work of fiction.

I am running as fast as I possibly can. There is only one direction to run which means I have little hope of getting away. If I can just make it to the first house or to keep away from him until a car comes down the road I’ll be fine. The insides of my abdomen feel like they have been replaced by a large heavy stone and my legs felt like they are rusted parts of a machine that will grind to a halt any moment. My lungs have given up trying to fulfill my body’s requirement for air quite some time ago. If I stop running, he’ll catch me. He’ll catch me and make me pay. He will multiply all the inconvenience I have caused him by ten and serve it back to me. Wait, why am I slowing down? Stop thinking about getting caught! Don’t look back! Just focus on running. Sprint!

I see silhouettes of trees beyond the wall on my right blur past the moon. Now a road sign blurs by. I’m not sure if it’s because of how fast I’m running or because my brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. I see red spots when I keep my eyes closed for too long. But that doesn’t matter, I don’t need perfect vision right now, I just need to make sure that my legs are pushing the ground back as hard as they can. This is very likely to be a matter of life and death. Run. Run. Run. Left, right, left, right, inhale-left, exhale-right, inhale-left, exhale-right. Inhale-left-throbb! Exhale-right-throbb! My heart feels like it’s going to explode. And that’s when I first hear it.

I wonder for a second if I can be imagining the sound. I’m exhausted enough for my hearing to be acting up. But as the sound grows louder it’s unmistakable. I can’t even hope that it’s the engine of another car driving up behind me. I know it’s his car. I know it’s him. I don’t turn to look. I continue running. I know it’s hopeless to run now but it seems like running is all I know how to do at the moment. What am I supposed to do? Stop, turn around and greet him with open arms? Lie down and play dead? I look on both sides of the road but there’s concrete walls at least ten feet high on both sides with barbed wires on top as far as I can see. Why didn’t you see this when coming in? How did you get yourself into this mess? Did you think you could piss off a man with such a violent history and run off into the night? The sound of the engine is deafening now and my shadow in the headlight is as sharp as it will ever be. I feel the push on the left side of my hip.

The car must have not hit me that hard because it didn’t hurt. The push was hard enough to throw me of my feet. I cover my face with my arms as I roll over in the gravel. I look back and see him getting out of the car. I clutch the gravel and try to get up but my head is spinning. He’s walking toward me now. I can see only his silhouette against the headlights. I can see a pistol in his hand. Don’t give up now. DO NOT give up. He will not have mercy. I clutch the gravel again and I feel a large stone in my right hand. I swing my arm as hard as I can and throw it at his head. Surprisingly, I don’t miss despite how dazed I am. He clutches the open car door with one hand for support while he holds his head with the other. I force myself off the ground and on instinct, I’m tempted to start running again but against all the odds I manage to think straight in the second that it takes for me to get back to my feet. If I run, he’ll get back in the car and he’ll catch me. I really only have one option here. As I lunge toward him I realise that the gun isn’t in his hand anymore. When he starts bending down I look and see the gun by his feet. I dive for it only to get two fistfuls of gravel as he picks it up just in time. I push the ground down and try to scurry behind the car for cover with whatever momentum I have left but he kicks me and once again I’m scrambling in the gravel.

I roll over and look up. This time I can see his face. I can see the blood from his temple dripping down his nose. He points the gun straight at my head. His cool and composed countenance gives way and just for a fraction of a second, I can see the wrath behind it. That wrath gives me hope that he’ll pull the trigger, that the bullet in my head will be the final full stop to all the crazy that’s happened over the past four days. It would be the simplest and quickest end to everything. I close my eyes. As the seconds pass, I begin to lose that little hope as well. I should know better than anyone, that life never works out to be that simple.