Ginge Reads

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash Mechanic blasts of warmth, the wind it whines with heavy handed gusts from platform three. I dare to step over the yellow lines, To draw the more attention back to me. Sat slumped atop a polyester case that’s rain soaked and empty. Nails bitten red, someone should recognise this broken face as the guilty one that fled. The train it comes and empties out the crowd, and I am left with spotlight to my crime. A year of running, stitching my own shroud, this criminal deserves to do his time See me, call them, then please lock me away, For I am tired of acting as the prey

You never think it’ll happen to you… until it does. Pine needles pierce my swollen feet as I race through the forest maze. I see my breath roll out in front of me, condensing in the bitter winter frost. My heart is deafening in my ears, and for a moment I am disorientated, the sound of my pursuers concealed by the rapid thumping. There’s three of them. No, four. I can hear their shouts now, and they bark just the same as the hounds that lead them. Shit, they’re close. The thick forestry is enough to dampen the sound of my frozen footsteps, but nothing will cover my scent. They thrive too much on the acrid smell of fear for it to go unnoticed… My pace quickens. Photo by Deglee Degi  on Unsplash I glance back, licking my cracked lips with a dry tongue. My foot buckles beneath me as it catches on a small pile of rock and dirt, and I collapse deadweight into a nearby tree. Falling forwards, I grasp desperately at the thicker branches, using its solid bark to steady...