He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t made a sound.
My sneakers scuff against the stone, and I’m gasping, the world tinging red at the edges.
I am suffocating. I am going to die, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it.
Fight. That’s what I can do. Fight in any way possible.
My kicking foot finally makes contact. Hard contact. The man grunts and staggers, and I get my balance again. I throw myself forward, but he’s already recovered, wrenching me off balance.
The man yanks again, as if growing impatient. I am taking so long to die. I twist, and down the alley, two figures shimmer. A young woman with honey-blond hair, in a cornflower-blue dress, as a shadowy figure has his hands wrapped around her throat.
The figures vanish, and I fight anew, but I’m off balance and can’t do more than flail.
I’m sorry, Nan. I’m sorry I won’t be with you. I know I promised—
The world goes dark.