Listen

Your shadow in your morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
And I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

T.S. Eliot - the waste lands. -

Rain fell down in sheets from a sky darker than the blackest of ink. Heavy drops like the tears of a thousand angels streamed down from the heavens to earth, an almost melodic beat of watery drumbeats hitting the ground before flowing away far out of sight. What could make Angels weep is a question for another night perhaps, but not this one.

A fat crescent moon hung heavy in the air, casting a weak silvery light that struggled to shine through the overcast sky above, leaving shadows to dominate the landscape.

It was could have been a beautiful scene, save for bolts of lightning tearing through the clouds, destroying the image in flashes of white. Claps of thunder echoed down streets and alleyways, and the impression of unseen horses chasing the trail clouded his mind once again.

Every bolt tearing through the sky showed a new nightmare on the horizon. Every flash tore away the cover of darkness, leaving him naked and exposed to the cold night air.

Run faster. Hide quicker. Get caught and he was screwed.

Twenty minutes left. Twenty bloody minutes till daybreak. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it, and it was fast approaching the point where his body didn't care.

Whispering a silent prayer to every God he knew, and a few that probably existed only within his panic filled brain, he kept running 'Help me. Please, help me.'

He knew he was fast running out of rope to hang himself with, could almost feel the invisible noose tightening itself around his neck as he ran ever further. The line between whether he'd managed to escape, or if he'd been released like a fox for a hunt were blurring closer and closer as the hours went on. He wasn't sure if he could even tell the difference anymore.

Did he escape? Or did they let him?

Why the chase if they did? He couldn't remember, try as he might. Fatigue burned his muscles, exhaustion seeping in to cloud his mind.

They were coming. . .