My knees buckled beneath me, heaving me down onto the sticky concrete. My muscles gave in to the burn seeping from my veins. The flames consuming my lungs licked at my throat begging for the contents of my stomach to cool them.
But now wasn't the time for tears and sickness.
Now was the time to get up and run.
Run against the burn.
Run away from the six bodies that now flooded the concrete with their blood.
I could suddenly feel every ounce of weight within my hand, every crease of the handle; suddenly I could feel the ripples in the air as the blade pushed against the cold damp air. Through the rivulets of blood covering the blade, the dance of the moonlight flickered up onto my face.
I pushed further, it wasn't far until I got there.
Sliding the doors open, everyone in the station stopped and stared. With single glances at the blade in my hand, several reach for the guns strapped to their waists but paused as my fingers gave in to the weight.
The clank of metal rang like church bells, drawing me from the shocked faces staring at me.
"Help me." I panted through the burn.
"I just killed six people."
Today's inspiration:
While I was lying in the gym after a gruelling 45 minutes of hell I took time to take in the moment and suddenly this scene came to.
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