I guess I'm back, after my extended... let's see, how to put this nicely... break from this site.

This is just a short drabble I typed, about 300 some words. It's kind of rushed, and I haven't decided if I like it yet, but it felt good to type it (I'm not really sure why, but it did.).

So... yeah. Here it is.

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Fear

The small brown tomcat sprinted down the street, his legs pumping, his chest heaving in and out with each breath. No twolegs, or their monsters, passed him. At this time of night, every living thing in their right mind was fast asleep… but he had long ago ruled himself out of the "sane" category. For how is it possible to remain sane when each step brings you closer to death, and when each breath you take could very well be your last?

He could hear his heart pounding, along with the repeated thumping of his rough paws smacking against the concrete sidewalk. But the noise that his ears picked up was dim and distant, his senses dulling with every passing second. Nothing was physically wrong with him, but his mind, filled with confusion and fear, had sealed his fate. Of course, even if he was in the right mentality, his chances of survival were next to none. A rush of thoughts swirled through his brain, dominated by worry and disbelief. She's coming… She's coming for me…

Tall shadows lay lengthwise across the road, from run-down, but still working, streetlights. Every so often, they'd lose power, only to blink back on a few seconds later. Cracks spread across the sidewalk, and he had to weave slightly so that he wouldn't trip in one of them. Old warehouses lined the sides of the street, a shiver creeping up his spine each time he passed one as he imagined a pair of green eyes watching him from above. Dark clouds hung over his head, and a tiny sliver of moon, barely visible past the tall, abandoned buildings, peeked down from its perch. Watching me... But doing nothing to help me, he thought bitterly, Nothing can help me now…

And it was true, nothing could help him, not even a miracle could save his life. He was a marked cat. His fur bristled, and he could almost feel it; that giant, red target on his back. By now, he wasn't even sure why he was running, probably instinct. Even if I ran to the other side of the world, she'd find me, he thought, the grim realization hung over his head, crushing him beneath its weight.

All he could hope for was a quick death.