The Beast and the Harlot

A short story I wrote while listening to an intense instrumental a while back.

Beast and the Harlot

 

 

It was behind her.

 

 She knew it as he was frantically running through the dense forest. Looking back over her shoulder she tried to get a glance at exactly what was following her. She had no clue how he got into this mess of a situation, all he knew is that to live she had to outrun the beast.

 

Picking up her pace, she barely managed to dodge fallen tree limbs and overgrown roots shooting at her from the cold ground. Luckily, the moon overhead gave her just enough visible light through the canopy tops to make out a path.

 

Glancing up one more time at the predator chasing her, she collapsed among the dirt and stones. Not exactly sure as to what caused her incidental fall, she sprang forward faster trying to regain the distance lost between her and the monster.

 

The forest around her grew deathly silent as she sprinted with haste. She was certain the creature was on her trail, closer then before. Her proof was the faint footstep not far off. Knowing it was nearer then she preferred, she takes off once more, darting through the remaining forest.

 

She started to realize she was lost. The twisting vines on the nearby trees seemed vaguely familiar and with the freshly imprinted footsteps on the ground ahead of her, she concluded she was in trouble. Anxiously glancing around, she uncovered an unused path behind the brush.

               

She figured if she could stay a few steps ahead of the pursuer, she knew she would make it out alive. Or so she thought. A rush of cold wind sent a shiver down her spine as she become aware of her slowing pace. “Keep moving” she thought, but not even by sheer will power could she stay in motion.

 

Suddenly she was dead still. The thing’s footsteps had disappeared �" vanished into thin air. She heard nothing but the quiet rustle of leaves on the forest floor. She saw nothing but darkness. The moon had disappeared under a thick mass of clouds that now covered the ominous night sky.

 

She was all alone. She rejoiced in the thought of loosing her pursuer, and that’s when she saw them. Those same piercing yellow eyes she has been outrunning for so long. They held her there in a trance unable to move a single muscle. Looking into its eyes brought back the repressed pain and memories that she long ago had buried.

 

Transfixed on its eyes, she began to sense her feet moving closer and closer. “This is it,” she thought. It was time to face her fear as she approached the menacing eyes. She distinguished its hand reaching out grasping her worn and tattered shirt. Its razor-sharp nails scrapped against her cold skin. She could feel the fresh blood trickle down her chest.

 

An innocent life ended at the hand of the beast.  

Reviews

[Imara]

Not quite sure what you're trying to say here. An interesting idea. You end with the line "An innocent life ended at the hand of the beast." Yet you call her a harlot which means she isn't innocent.
Great writing skill clearly but this piece needs some work on the story and end.