As she walks down the street, the torchlight low and too far between, her accelerated pace increases with her anxiety.
Quickly, quickly, quickly, her legs take her.
The sun set hours ago and now the dark reigns. Even the moon—and the sliver of safety it provides—hides away, covered by clouds.
Quickly, quickly, quickly, her heart demands.
She takes a turn, cringing as male laughter rises in volume. Another couple paces, and she spots the group of rowdy men.
With her hood up, pulled tight with her worrying fingers, the men eye her hunched form. They access her and laugh.
“This town is safe,” they tell her.
“The running little girl,” they mock her.
“Skitter along like a frightened mouse,” they shake their heads and laugh. Laugh at her ridiculous nature.
But is it so ridiculous to fear the night?
Where monsters hide, preying on those they view as weak. Sure, not all creatures that thrive in the night are looking for a kill, but all it takes is one. One monster, one beast, one fateful turn, and she will meet her end. So—
Quickly, quickly, quickly, she rushes through the night, weary of every turn she takes.
But on to her grandmother’s house, she must travel.