That’s your instinct screaming: run!
Someone is giving you a hot chase, armed with a sharpened machete for the kill. Like a hunter chasing his game, when he catches up with it, the rest they say is history. Not today, history is one subject you’re not ready to become, not yet.
Who is chasing you? Why is the person chasing you? What did you do? Where are you?
Hordes of questions swarm your boggled mind, each of them ramming into the other like the disillusioned players in American Football.
No time to think. Safety first. Keep running!
Your pace is almost at the speed of light – if it had heels – you can’t even feel the ground, it’s like you’re flying. You repress the urge to look back this time round, afraid that like Lot’s wife you might turn into a pillar of blood.
Birds are chirping.
Bees are buzzing.
Trees are rustling.
The ground is quaking from sprinting feet pounding on it. Everywhere seems dark like it’s already nightfall, or probably it is the shadows of the leaves cast on the bushy pathway (turned into a racetrack) that simulates the ambience of dusk. Visibility is dampened, barely can you see ahead in the dimness of this haunted forest. The cacophonous ecosounds in the background is overwhelmed by the tatata of throbbing feet gaining pace on you.
In panic you trip on something, maybe a stump or so, it doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is that you tripped. Still lying on your back, your eyes meet with another pair of bloodshot eyeballs staring eerily at you. The face smirks devishly, the kind that says: finally I’ve caught up with you! Not to waste anytime lest you get back on your feet to continue the marathon for your life, the pursurer raised the machete midair. Its glittering edges sparkle in the dark and like a falling bolt of thunder it descends on your face.
Jesussssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!! You scream at the top of your lungs.
Bathed in sweats you snap out of sleep with a terrified start, panting for breath, heart beating hard against your burning chest.
Thank God it’s all a dream. You heave a deep breath in animated relief.
From nowhere you hear a familiar voice, so you think you can run abi?
Taken aback your gaze flips to the direction of the voice. It is your girlfriend holding the same machete you had seen in your dream, staring at you like an abattoir would at the head of a cow about to be slaughtered.