I can't breathe. I mean, I could, but it would likely end with me not breathing. Permanently.

So I hold my breath as the Survivor slithers past my hiding place. If I make even a miniscule sound, I'll never make it out of here alive. If I do nothing, I will meet the same fate.

My vision begins to swim. Black spots push their way to the surface of my eyes and I imagine how it would feel to die here.

The Survivor huffs and I hear the sound of blades retracting. It's leaving.

I can take it no longer. I let my lungs empty and fill, over and over, quietly and greedily. Never before has air tasted so sweet.

And then there comes the clicking.

The blades.

The Survivor is back.

And it knows exactly where I am.

I run.

I run, breathing as much as I need but all the worse for it.

I know I won't be breathing much longer.

I run anyway.

They call them Survivors because they can survive anything. They literally survived the end of the world.

And now, it seems like I won't.

Sluggish, I pump my legs. I focus on the space ahead of me.

It follows;

I cannot hear it. Smell it. See it.

But I know it's there.

I'm still running,

Still breathing,

I will not survive this. I know that. Running is futile, yet every fraction of my body tells me to escape.

That maybe there's a chance.

The Survivor will outrun me. Will outlive me.

Still, I run.