Just a thing to fill my works page a bit. This really isn't the best thing I've ever written but eh. I'll post it anyway. This also isn't really as scary or tense I would've liked it, but there's always next time.
There's a crunch, snap, rustle, and a heavy breath that breaks through the cold, tacit night. Its almost beautiful. I'm surprised how people never stop to look at the smaller things. How they always rush to get from point A to point B and never even give a second thought to the little, fantastic wonders of our world. I stare up at the sky, blanketed by the dark treetops and their leaves, as if putting the sun to sleep to rest for another day. When you live a life of solitude, you're left with your thoughts. I wonder what his are? He hasn't stopped running like I have, but I suppose he should be more scared than I. The endless forest is a very frightening place, especially for one who does not know the area. I can still hear his heart beat in my mind and I wonder how long until he falls and join his ancestors in their silent tomb. I walk after him, following at an easy pace. I hum a tune and hope he can hear me, even as far away as he is. I swing my umbrella as I continue along, my song growing unusually upbeat and fast paced for this little get-together. I hear his footsteps slow down and adjust my tempo to that of his, a song composed by the frightened footsteps and musings of a so-called psychopath. Like they have any room to judge. I can about see him now as he slows to an almost stop and wobbles in his place. I catch up to him and poke him in the back with my umbrella and watch him fall with a blood curdling scream. I suppose he doesn't enjoy my company. It doesn't matter, however. He'll be free from it soon enough. He stares up at me from his final resting place and I smile a sick, twisted Cheshire grin. I gently shut his eyes and he doesn't scream or struggle anymore. I grin softens. Like I said, the little things are usually the most beautiful. And to a lonely psych case like me, death is a very little thing indeed.