Sweating Bullets

My skin is slippery and smooth. I wipe the sweat out of my eyes, but it only smears around more. Blink. Grimace. Keep running.

The sky grows darker and the air takes on a foreign chill. My sneakers slap the pavement with an angry rhythm. My leg hair bristles. Something doesn’t feel right. I run faster.

I hear the sound of a car engine in the distance. I try again to shake the sweat out of my hair and face. It splatters on my shirt. I wipe my hands on my shorts. The car comes closer.

I shouldn’t have hit her, I think. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things, said a lot of things. Breathe. Cough. Blink. But she was asking for it. The car is right behind me. I have a sinking feeling in my gut. My step falters.

In that instant, there is a searing pain in my leg, and then another in my back. I spin around and the car’s headlights blind me. The sweat drips down my forehead, and the world slows for a moment. All I see is a small black bullet hurtling toward my face. I pray for forgiveness, and then I die.

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