The woman knew the inevitability of captivity, but she struggled for hope nonetheless. With her bleeding legs, she sprinted forward, her feet chafing against the pebbles and the sand as she made her way to the road. The figure followed her. He knew she was there.
She swiveled her head as she continued running. The saffron-clad figure, with a white beard, followed her; his hand holding a serrated knife.
I have to escape.
The woman skid, hurting her feet in the process; as she maneuvered her body towards the woods. She entered the forest, where the canopies overhead concealed the moonlight, hindering her vision significantly. She followed her instincts, hoping her feet wouldn't meet a fallen branch and make her trip. She heard the noise of chappals as she turned again to see the figure. But all she could make out was darkness.
Her feet collided against a rock and her body lost control, and rolled across the muddy ground; her white kurta getting splattered in the mud.
It's over.
She looked up and there was a glimmer of light that shot across the sky, like a silver line. The moon dipped in the midst of clouds and for a moment she admired the beauty of nature, for she had forgotten how the world outside looked. She had been trapped somewhere with no light, no sky, no sound. It was only darkness that had become a friend, a visceral nightmare she chose to not go back to, even if the alternative meant death.
And then all those thoughts were interrupted as she watched the bearded figure entering her line of vision, a feverish smile besmirching his appearance.
"Memsaab, please..." the voice called out, "it's over."
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