#WritcoStoryChallenge
The footsteps following me sounded closer. I ran through the empty corridors of the hospital, my heart pounding with terror.
I turned a corner and stopped short. I had reached a dead end.
My breathing was short and ragged, my lungs gripped by an icey iron hand.
I was filled with that panic that tells you to close your eyes, even though you know that lack of sight won't save you.

The grip on my lungs is now partnered with the cool grip on my neck, the pad of a thumb pressed against the pulse in my throat.

I want to scream but my voice has long since abandoned me.

I refuse to open my eyes and realize my nightmare.

His breath is cool on my cheek as his lips brush my skin and he whispers,

"Wake up."