5

Running, running.

Joe had to wake up. The only way out was to wake up.

The ground was spongy, layers of rotted leaves. They slipped and slithered as he struggled to keep his balance. If he fell, he’d never make it. She would die.

The leaves had a sweet, sickly smell. He knew that smell, the smell of decay, of death.

It was waiting for him. Danger. He would die.

Lungs on fire, breath coming hard. His ankle twisted. He fell, rolled. The smell was stronger. Blood. He rolled in it. Palm prints, dripping blood appeared on his white shirt. The blood ran and swirled into letters, red dripping letters that spelled her name.