"They're coming," he whispered through pursed lips. I could see the tension in his jaw, the bone and muscle flexing underneath his thin, pale skin.
Nodding, I followed his line of sight into the darkness. But all I could see was velvet black out there; the moon could not even illuminate it for us, no matter how hard it tried. We were on our own.
Leaning against the door frame, my fingers curled around the handle of the wooden door. It would soon become our only protection between life and certain (painful) death. My knuckles turned white as my grip tightened and my anxiety increased. From above my shoulder, I felt his breath trickle against my neck and then heard his footsteps in the opposite direction. He was right. It would do no good to simply stand here and wait for the inevitable.
We needed to fight.
No comments:
Post a Comment