The narrator runs away.Mature

A wash of adrenalin floods my body, like a bolt of crackling lightning, scything through my core. The reek of fear is given over to the shockwave of panic, and I run. Flee. Escape. My mind reels, disoriented, my body controlled by some otherworldy force as I pick up speed. I do not register the forest, neither leaf nor fern. The wind is drowned, a lost soul, beneath the thump thump thump of blood in my ears, in my mind, drilling into my brain.
   A root, gnarled and old, bent and crooked with insidious intent, reaches up and grabs my blurred foot, sending me hurtling into oblivion. A thousand leering faces speed in front of me, then a thunderous boom, a million pinpricks of light, the blinding pain of a red hot poker slowly making it's way into my soul, then black. Nothingness absorbs the world. An abyss so absolute, so whole and incorporeal, like the vast expanse of space, or the unimaginable breadth of existence. And then, not even the nothingness of nothing exists. Existence ends, and so do I.

The End

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