Short Story #2

Sweat drips from his nose and puddles on the cold concrete between his feet. He has nearly caught his breath, but his mind is still racing. As he sits on the cold steps he wonders if this will be the last time. He needs new socks. His big toe pokes out almost completely. He'd lost a shoe in the chase; surely the beast had torn it from his foot. He barely got away; he hadn't realized that he ran an entire block on a bare foot until just now. There was no turning back now though, it's just too dangerous. He limps the rest of the way home, thankful to be alive. He stumbles into the front door exhausted from the journey, and collapses on the couch in the den. Before he knows it, night has come and gone and its time to begin the day again. He finds a pair of shoes and heads out the door. The walk ahead is daunting but he knows he must brave it, for the consequences are far greater than death at the claws of the white beast. He's sharp. Every sense is tuned in. He knows there is no room for error. He hears a rustle in the bushes and his heart stops. Pause. He waits. A chipmunk scurries up a nearby tree. Sigh. Relief. Maybe he wont face the beast today. If he sticks to the road and keeps a steady pace he knows his chances are much better. He reminds himself of the bite he was dealt less than a week ago. He got careless and he was caught off gaurd. He replays the event over in his mind once more. he hardly had time to react, all he saw was a flash of white, white fury he thought. The sound of its snarling was stuck in his ears, how terrible that snarling was. Stop. Think. Focus on the road, stay alert. He keeps walking. he comes up on the shoe he'd lost the day before. Its hardly recognizable but he picks it up, looks around nervously and tucks it into his bag. This trek seems to get longer and longer each time. Halfway there. This is the danger zone he whispers to himself. Stay on your toes. He's almost there just a few more steps, just around this corner, he'll make it. He lets out a sigh of relief. He's safe. He takes a moment to collect himself. This part of the day always wears him out. From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of light. Could it be? Breathe. Its back! He freezes. He was so careful. It was waiting for him, it had to be. He's not giving up. The adrenaline courses through his body and he tears off. He gains no more than 10 yards before he's eating pavement. He lets out a grunt as the wind is beaten from his lungs. He tries desperatly to get back up. Its too late the beast has his pants leg, and is jerking violently. He braces himself and tries to think. He plays dead, it works for bears maybe it could work now. through his eyelids he sees a shadow fall over him. A woman's voice shouts, "Cleo! Stop it!". He opens his eyes and she helps him up. "i'm sorry" she says "cleo just loves to play". "you call that playing?! I almost lost a limb! I could have died!" he exclaims. "relax kid," she says "it just a poodle." he brushes himself off in a huff "man, I hate that dog".