A Fugitive on the Loose, Where’s the Noose? – Dead Deer

A Fugitive on the Loose, Where’s the Noose?

A glint from the shadows, a momentary glint of light in the darkness. A single short breath was the only reaction he allowed himself, but he was wildly aware of the increased threat.

Within the shadow, however, a bead of sweat broke out on the forehead, and snaked down the side of the face, driven by a powerful and awful power, beyond the control of the straining brain secreted below that forehead. She knew that the metal object in her hand had given away her position. Whose move next?

This is not, however, a game that regulates on turns: they both moved. Instinctively he went down and forwards, she drew back. And like that, in half of a blink of an eye, they were off again.

At full stretch she sprinted into the darkness, the sweat now enveloping her completely, the gun’s secure position in her tight grip under risk. His hurried footsteps started a beat after hers, but she heard them not, her breathing too loud, her brain focussing on ‘flight’ to the detriment of the senses.

She knew, her experience and intelligence told her, that they would not be merely chasing her, but they would be chasing her somewhere, a trap, a cordon of officers ready to contact like a noose. He knew where, she needed to keep moving, and all the time think, guess, second-guess.

He smiled as she ducked down the alley. His plan was working, she would emerge into his carefully constructed cage. He slowed, followed her down the alley, his people would do the job.

Emerging into the beautiful, rain-soaked, medieval square he looked. Where was she? Where was his team? What had gone wrong?

****

The overnight train left the ornate, majestic arch of the central station on time. The last ticket was brought in cash, sweat-stained notes thrust hurriedly across the counter.

 

 

Today I wrote  between 16:25 and 16:40. I was prompted by an idea here.

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Battle – Dead Deer

Battle

Sweet smell of baking biscuits wafted from the kitchen window of the quaint little cottage across the meadow. Larks sung. Daisies and buttercups shone against the lush long grass, the yellow and green made the hours shoot by in no time. And now it was time for her to hit the road. There was a mountain waiting for her. She prepared herself and was off.

As she trudged slowly toward the higher ground she knew she was finally ready, but she could sense some change; in her and in the atmosphere. Well, that is what she expected, why she was heading off to the inevitable conflict.

On and on, under the hot sun she went, and the ground began to rise below her. You know where she’s heading, you know where she’ll be. Finally she reaches the top and finds the castle, the moat full of over-sized alligators; obviously raised here, personally by him so says the legends. Well those homegrown beasts were no match for her trusty sword, and their thrashing and anguished death throes brought the attention of her presence that she had hoped for. They needed me, she thought, now stick around and see what I’ll do. Yes it is time to deal with him once and for all.

She gained access and came face to face with her enemy, her sword raised. She really could get used to this. Now it is time. She looked up, and saw what he held. Oh shit.

A shotgun.

 

with apologies to George Ezra

Today I wrote from 17:03 to 17:13. I was prompted by idea “Prepared for battle, she made her presence knownhere. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here