I was running; running as fast as my short legs could take me. But they burned with exhaustion. My knees buckled and I stumbled over a root on the ground. I cut my hand on a sharp rock and felt the trickle of warm liquid flowing down my fingers. I could hear the hounds getting closer, their barks more like a wail of hunger than anything else. They would tear me to pieces if they caught me. I had to get away.
I pushed myself up off the ground and darted past the rock that cut me. The hounds would catch the scent of my blood. I had to find a place to hide. My legs were too tired to outrun them. Perhaps if I could reach the river, the dogs might lose my trail. I heard the slow, steady rhythm of flowing water. The river. Where was it coming from? Blindly I charged forward. The branches slashed at my face and my thighs, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was my freedom. I will never go back. I will never let them catch me. Better dead than a slave.
Copyright © 2009 Maricel Jimenez. All rights reserved.
Written by Maricel Jimenez on 05/26/2009.
Better dead than a slave..