he sun's disk touched the horizon to leave behind a reddish line and I knew soon the night would be here. It was still the man's run and with every minute, he was breathing much heavier than before. The body jerked as violently as his eyes, and each gasp that he was able to draw was laden with excruciating pain. He winced with pain and blood gushed freely from a deep wound by the shoulder where an arrow stuck into the meat. He left a small red dotted line on the ground, because of blood stains sheds down when he was in haste.

Behind him, the screams of his pursuers rent the air even in the dead of the evening.

"You villain, hold it! Let us apprehend you!"

But the man didn't care. There were no opportunities to ponder upon the motives of the pursuit, he did not get the chance to. The only thing which was running through his mind was the invocation of survival. Heaving the air deeply, he mumbled, "Stop!? Your father's head! I will not give up so quickly."

He continued running despite the sharp pain which he felt in his shoulder. With each step the pain from the wound enraged him further, but he understood that he cannot stop now.

He then realized that he saw a crossroad way ahead of him. Thinking it no more than he was worth he swung to the right to attempt to outrun his chasers. Several of them look to the end of the road and they saw an old, dilapidated house. In the interior there were the walls of logs with moss and heavily fastened windows with the aid of the rotten wooden planks. At once, he sprang towards the front door of the house.

He clutch at the door handle as if he was suffering from palsy. he applied some force unto the handle of the door and like a bow-legged man, the door gave a loud protest and opened. Without wasting any time, he entered the room and, with equal caution he shut the door behind him. What was left of his breaths was heavy and fast, filling the darkend and silent room. He rushed to a corner of the room, which was far away from the door where he sat down grabbing his injured shoulder. They each took turns biting into their food then the pain started to spread so he became weak. He was panting and perspiration was gradually forming on his brow.He shake and grabbed his cheeks with both his hands, extending his efforts into not uttering a squeal that might alert his followers. Outside, the footsteps of the hunters began, their voice getting louder and announcing their presence as the walked down the street.

One of the pursuers shouted loudly, "Where has that criminal gone? He must be somewhere near."

One said: 'We were nearly on him! He won't have gotten very far. Search every nook and cranny!'

That was a narrative with the man listening to each word as though his life depended on it. On the other side of the walls of the house, he could hear the steps getting even closer. He shuddered not only because of the burning in his shoulder but also because of fear gradually seizing him. It became apparent that cold sweat was still trickling down his temples.

In shock, he stared at himself with a horrified look and whispered, "How did this happen to me?" as he felt tears roll down his cheeks. This question stuck in his head over and over again. He had never been guilty of anything—at least nothing he could recall. But why was he now being hunted like a dangerous criminal?

"Why is this happening to me?" he whispered softly and feebly, though still audible over the sound of his gasping breaths. His curiosity was sparked by these questions: "What is really going on?"

His eyes started tearing up and they rolled down his cheeks steadily. Guilt shot through him with every beat of his heart and each drop of blood that had flowed out of his wound. He shut his eyes tightly, hoping to contain his erratic mind.

Out on the street, the calls of his followers were heard once again. They paused just in front of the house he had gone into.

"Where could he be? He must be around here," one of them said angrily."

"He can't have gone far. Let's split up and check these empty houses," another suggested.The others nodded in agreement with him. "Okay, I will go with you. We will separate and catch that criminal. He certainly will not evade us this time."

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At once they were separated into groups of two and three and started to scour the region actively. They went from one house to the other, from one corner of the street to another, on prowl to detect; sometimes they have to knock before they proceeded further.

This man who was hiding inside the house was able to hear them clearly as they conversed. The sound of their voices seemed like the whips that cracked on his nerves and his heart beat raced even faster. He realized well that he was running out of time. The enemies were getting nearer and if they saw him everything would be finished.

Drawing his clenched fists to his chest in an attempt to ease the scadalous burning on his shoulder, the man struggled to clear his mind. He looked at the walls of the small, dark, dusty room wondering if there was some kind of thing he could use. But it appeared to be dead, it as if the house was abandoned. Actually, there was no place which could he called safe.

Nothing could be as slow as those seconds which were so heavy that they were comparable to minutes. Each time the footsteps sounded louder he got stiff, his muscles constricting in anticipation. He held his breath for this praying that they will not cover a ground and see where he hid. However the hope that he had slowly started disappearing when one of them reached the old house.

Soon the door opened and there were footsteps heard faintly from outside the door.

"Check this house," said one of the pursuers, nodding at Andy and suddenly making him feel very uneasy.

The man's body stopped moving as a reflex to the sound. His heart was beating loudly as if its tempo was somehow connected and synchronized with every beat of his ears. They would just cycle in if they came in and there would be nothing he could do it. Meanwhile outside, the pursuers appeared to be even more confident that the man was somewhere in the neighborhood hidden from view.

"The man has to be in here," said another one.

The man blinked and closed his eyes and prayed that there could be a miracle. He felt his hand on his slender waist where his wound was; he felt the cold clamminess in the palm and realized blood had left him weaker. He only managed to suppress the groan which was welling up his throat to come out loud.And yet in that very moment as the intensity grew to its maximum pitch there came a cry from the distance. A man among the pursuers across the street suddenly yelled, "Hey! I see someone over there! He is running towards the hill."

The moment the pursuers were near the house they heard the noise and turned around in that direction. Immediately they all started to run, towards the direction that had been illustrated by the finger. Before they could walk away their footfalls diminished, their voices ceased, leaving the house old and empty.

The man who was hiding inside the house exhaled deeply. At least for now, there was nothing wrong with him as far as he could tell. But he realized that was only for now. They would surely return.

With the remaining strength he was able to get up from the ground. He could still feel the blood slowly dripping out of his wounded shoulder and his vision started fading. He had to seek assistance or at least a better place to conceive his next plan. This house wouldn't protect him for much longer.

He tried to get to the window to try to look out. The night was approaching and the streets began to turn into the night. He slowly cracked the window just enough for him to check the outside. His chasing but they were out of sight now but he was fully aware that they would not abandon the chase.

The man sighed deeply, and although relief was visible even on his aging face and his physical condition was rapidly deteriorating. Yet, even in the midst of that short break the transparent screen that had shown up earlier reappeared before him.