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Here i one of my short stories:
He ran down the dark street. Every light-post he passed flickered and died above him, all chances of escape were extinguished. His options were limited, each turn a disappointment. Soon, his time would be up. He could feel it, the thing chasing him drawing closer. An unknown fear hung open before him. It got closer and closer and closer. He was dangerously close to the gaping, hungry maw of that unidentified obstacle before him. His pursuer wasn’t far behind him. He felt the breath of the thing chasing him chilling his spine as he ran deeper, deeper, deeper into danger. He was almost –
there. He now found himself falling, falling, falling into the throat of fear, an endless chasm of rot and stink. He couldn’t grab anything and he couldn’t turn to see the bottom. He was helpless. A sick foreboding gripped his body, an intense dread of his final destination that twisted his intestines within him. He choked on his fear. Whatever had followed him was still in pursuit – it ran down the wall as easily as it had carried itself over the asphalt, chasing him unendingly.
He saw it getting closer in this dismal realm. It reached out a clawed hand, groping, stretching through the dark elements of the horrible, shadowy environment to point a ghastly syringe. Clouds of ravens swirled like Charybdis above him. He fell, fell, fell continuously, but the syringe loomed closer and closer and closer. The sky grew darker, darker, darker. Darkness was swallowing him, but did not shut out the syringe. He couldn’t move and the syringe was almost –
to him. He screamed. He felt the hot syringe puncture his cold flesh, felt its foul content empty into him, fill him, permeate his body, felt tired. His vision went grey and his eyes closed.
He was unconscious.
When he opened his eyes again, he was blinded. Everything was white – a bright, glowing, hot, nuclear white that burned his eyes. He looked down, not to look up again that day. He stared down blankly, coldly, at his arms – confined in a straight-jacket.