Sabine
Footsteps. More than a pair. More than a pair of pairs. They multiply, out of sync and out of line. A chaotic muddle of slaps against the wet pavement. Fierce and untameable, they double in speed. The metronome of the gang goad one another into action, all edging closer to my heels. I am profoundly aware of my bare ankles, calves and thighs; the hairs stand on end, poised for flight. My shoelaces threaten to come undone, and I trip in my haste to outrun my pursuers. Just like that, I become the film cliches I so openly mock.
