So this is my first time writing. I am not AH-MAH-ZING, so criticism is completely understandable and respected. Of course, I don't own anything to do with CM.

1

Her hair was matted with a thick layer of blood, both hers and his. Fresh blood seeped from the new wounds both surface and from the deep puncture wounds. Her sense of direction was completely gone. Was it from the hours spent gagged and blind-folded, or due to the fact that she could swear every creak and crunch made by the autumn leaves were due to the feet of her captor as he came chasing after her to drag her back to what felt like the depths of hell itself.

It truly wasn't fair, how had her life become so turned around in what only seemed like hours.

One minute she was doing her job. The next she was someone else's prey. So this is what it felt like to be one of the victims she so often came into contact with. Only, that was wrong. She wasn't a victim. A victim was someone that couldn't protect themselves unlike a highly trained FBI Agent. That's what is so wrong about the whole situation. She was not a victim. She couldn't be.

Her breathing was becoming laboured. It was dire that she stopped and rested. Not only was she suffering from exhaustion, but also dehydration. Every step taken, was a step closer to freedom, but also a step closer to unconsciousness. The feeling of dryness at the back of her throat was becoming harder and harder to bare. Her mind was running faster than a heard of antelope away from a cheetah. She wanted to get away. But her body was giving up.

Her mind, ever the fighter told her to hang on, to stay resilient, she could make it. But her body told her no, it was time to rest. Searching relentlessly in her attempts to run to freedom, she came across an opening in the rock.

She had two choices, continue running until the point of passing out and almost certainly return to the icy, maniacal hands of her captor or hide in this crevice, and pray to whatever God was out there that her friends, her family would come and rescue her, tell her she was safe, that everything was okay and he could no longer hurt her.

But luck as of late just hadn't appeared to be on her side. Was it fair? No. Was there anything she could do to change it? No.

As she settled down and allowed herself to start fall into slumber, she decided it would be a good idea to catalogue her injuries.

One probably broken finger, ribs that are incredibly sore, a dislocated, then relocated knee cap, swelling to the left side of the face and now that she was painfully aware of every ache in her body she noticed the state of her feet. Pieces of mutilated skin dangling by only millimetres.

Everything was overwhelming, she had to make it home, there was far too much live for. Thoughts of her family ran through her mind as she felt her mind and body both begin to relax. Sleep was mere moments away.

The sound of footfalls became audible. Faster and closer and louder, until they were metres away. Her breathing became erratic, and she frantically scurried as far into the yellowing shrubbery as possible. Holding a trembling hand to her face in an attempt to keep from being heard, tears silently slipped down a paling face. She could see her breath in front of her as it eked out around the hand that attempted to silence her whimpers.

A hand covered in a black glove slowly began pulling back the fern as black spots made their way into her vision. Her mind began to spin as the man with his usual smile reached out his arms to reclaim her…

It's short, but tell me if you think it's okay and if I should carry on.