Writer_ Terri-Ceres Mejias
Run. Run harder, run faster. Run for your life.
The thin tall grass whips past you, no longer your friend but your enemy, slowing you down when you need to escape. Slowing you down when you can hear the growls, the snarls, feel the hot, salty breath on your tail. It makes you shiver, makes you cringe to acknowledge how close to death you really are.
Urging yourself to keep going, you wonder where the others scattered to. Why you’re the only one left. The unlucky foal being chased. All you had wanted was a drink of water. You’re still thirsty.
You’re getting tired. Your breathing is laboured and you pant. Sweat drips from your head into your eyes but you blink it away. It cannot – will not – get in the way of your survival. Your legs feel weak, you’re suddenly aware of how frail they are. How easily they can snap under powerful jaws.
You are afraid. No, you are terrified.
You have no idea about where you are running to. Nowhere is safe. Not while the pursuer is so deathly close. The landscape is barren anyway; there are no hiding places for you. No sanctuary. And still you keep weaving, convincing yourself that if you just keep moving, everything will be okay. If you just keep moving, it will end happily for you.
The sun beats down unkindly, turning away as one hoof buckles over a rock. You stumble, faltering, gasping, and the lion lurches forward.
Zebra for lunch.