Adapt (I)

TJR Garcia © 2020

SCARLET

The soles of my shoes crunch on the gravel road. It is all I hear. The trees around me pass in a blur. I am running faster than I ever have before. My breaths come frantic and shallow. As I clench my fists, I can feel the dried blood crusting and flaking off.

Above everything else I can feel every fibre of my flesh burning, stretching and twisting. I can’t stop running, though. My legs push forward through the jolts of pain.

Am dying? Surely, I am. I screech out to release the pain, but it doesn’t help. My nearest neighbours are too far away to hear. I place a foot wrong and collide with the ground, rolling on the gravel.

I push myself to my feet, knowing that if I rest for too long, I won’t be able to keep going. The scratches up my arms don’t hurt, but the caked blood on my hands is itchy. I drag my dirty fingernails over the skin, trying to scape away the blood. Tiny, high-pitched whimpers fall from my lips. Tears overflow, making it hard to see, dripping onto my reddened hands.

My sight zeros in on the blood on my hands, now moisten with my own tears. The smell... metallic. Inviting.

Without thinking, I bend my head to my hand. I press my tongue to the salty red droplet-

I throw myself out of bed, slamming against a wall. My fists pull at my tank top, fear running hot through my veins. I look from side to side, wondering how the hell I got to my bedroom from the gravel road.

I can’t get enough air into my lungs.

I watch the moonlight shining through my window until I fully convince myself that it was all just a nightmare. After a few more seconds, my breathing begins to regulate.

I straighten and decide to go and get a glass of water. Shaking legs carry me to the kitchen. I fumble the glass under the tap, eventually bringing it to my lips. The water is cool, giving me something to focus on. I dip my head under the tap, trying to cool my hot cheeks. Next are my hands. I wring them under the water, still baffled as to how they are so clean.