#82 Stained

by Patsy Collins

I concentrated on breathing. Trying to ignore the crushing weight of his body, the chill of my exposed flesh, his hot pawing hands, I stared at the sun glinting from the coloured windows.

He shifted position; I jerked my knee, made contact and rolled free. I ran; battered my hands against the locked door.

The church porch provided no sanctuary.

4 comments:

Sam Knight said...

*shudder* Nice creation of a nightmare in almost the blink of an eye.

Aerin said...

Yikes. Well written.

Flutterby said...

It's amazing how much you managed to fit into such few words. Powerful imagery.

Patsy said...

Thanks!

I did try extending it but somehow that seemed to take away, rather than add to, the story.