A bunch of random crap I found in the recesses of my writing folder, along with some newer stuff. Feel free to add.
I hear her stumble and twist round to see her pick herself up. She's tripped over a tree root.
A couple of metres closer behind they follow, rifles aimed. We can't run fast enough, we can't get away, why are we still running? Why?
"Run Anna! Run!"
The voice comes like a pinprick of light, the lifeline thrown to the drowning, and I don't want it, I don't want any of it. Just let me go, let me die, let me away from this. Why won't you let me go?
She screams my name through a memory, run Anna run! I'm already running. My head won't turn fast enough to miss the bullet go through the back of her head and turn her pretty face into a nightmare. These boots were a bad choice for running.