Too Late

Boom. Boom.

She could feel her heart in her ears. Her chest was shrinking with every breath that passed her lips, one moment her skin would be too sheer to hold her bones. She bolted down the road. A mixture of sweat and tears, drop by drop, streamed down her face. There was no cloud above, but the sting in her chest felt like a flood. Her feet were bleeding and blistered from the concrete. Her eyes didn't bother blinking.

She must make it to that cottage.

The warning had rung out early that morning, while she was getting out of the shower. Her phone vibrated from the notification and fallen from her bedside table. She tripped over the floor to pick it up. When the threat flashed, she felt thunder erupt. This was what she had feared. Every second was late. Her instinct arrived. She sprinted out of the house.

She kept repeating to herself "It's too late", but her optimism kept her going. Hope, logic, reason dripped out like a funnel. She ridiculed herself. She could not be stopped.

The cottage appeared, crumbling, a cruel grey tone. She burst threw the door. Inside, the small rooms were overwhelmingly cluttered, papers scattered on all the furniture. She saw a red stain on them. Some storm had powered through the home; she knew him.

When she made it to the back porch, she saw him. Blood like rain tracing down his bruised back, his hair messed and knotted, a gun in his hand. Sensing her, he turned, his eyes wide from terrors he would kill to un-see. They focused on her, black orbs piercing into her.

For a moment, he smiled. A smile of relief. She un-tensed her shoulders and began to walk towards him. He raised his arm.

Boom.