There’s no use running.

The chalk snaps against the wall. She grits her teeth as the nub clatters to the ground, leaving a spot of mustard yellow in the concrete with every bounce. 

It takes everything she has not to cry.

She wanted it to be perfect.

She shakes herself. It doesn’t matter. She has to get it done. She’s so close.

It’s behind her. She can hear it growling close in the dark, nestled into the shadows of a hallway that she dare not look at because if she does, then it will chase her.

If she doesn’t look, then it will chase her anyway. She knows this. But it will take longer; spend time stalking her, scaring her, breathing down her neck.

That gives her time. Time to draw.

Her fingers shake, but she keeps going. She makes a few more strokes, then tosses the chalk aside with a clatter and stoops for the rest of the pack. She grabs the red one, turns it flat; thick swathes of color grinding vibrance into the wall with every swipe. Tosses it aside.

She hears it padding closer in the dark. She wonders if it’s waiting for her to run. They both know she will. She always does. Just for that miniscule chance that she can get away. Sometimes, it even lets her. Others, it sinks its teeth in her, and she awakens to a city with a hole in it.

She keeps drawing, even as the sirens shriek distant in the night. 

They’ll be here soon, and then they’ll die. She wishes she still had the energy to care.

She reaches for another chalk piece, scraping a big, beautiful blue circle in the midst of that red and yellow maelstrom.

She feels its breath against her ankle. She tries to blink away the tears. It won’t let her finish?

A scuffling on the ground; the sound of the chalk box being pushed along the rough surface of the floor. The box hits the wall. It pushes its snout inside. She isn’t watching. She has eyes only for her picture.

She was so close.

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Coarse fur against her leg. She shudders. A wetness in her palm. It takes her a moment to realize it’s its nose. Its jaws open, letting something drop into the curve of her fingers. She lifts it up to look.

The green chalk, slightly sticky with saliva.

She keeps drawing, scraping slabs of green onto that beautiful blue orb, and steps back to admire her handiwork.

It’s perfect.

She feels something fuzzy grind against her palm. She looks down. It’s nuzzling its head against her fingers.

She scratches it behind the ears, her gaze returning to the drawing.

Then the footsteps come; clunk, clunk, clunk against the tiles beyond the hallway. 

Perhaps they’ll miss her if she’s quiet.

It starts growling low and loud beside her as it turns toward the noise.

She knows what comes next. She runs; down into the darkness of the hall while it advances towards the door.

A light behind her as it crashes open. Growling. Yells. The rattling flash of light and sound that always acts as precursor to the pain. She feels nothing. Then they pierce her flesh. Her lips open wide to give voice to the tearing of her skin, but even so, she runs.

It roars behind her as it tears them all to shreds.

When it’s done, it’s going to chase her.

Down, down, down into the hall until everything around is inky black. She puts her arms up to shield her face as she goes on. She hits a door, her forearms slamming into a broad metal bar that pushes dents into her bones as it crashes out. The door breaks open. She sees the city lights around her on the rooftop.

The noise has quieted behind her. She’s not alone. Her instincts fail her. She looks to the shadows.

It lunges. 

She jumps off the roof.

It’s a long way to the ground, but it catches her before she impacts.

She tries to struggle free, but it digs its teeth into her neck. She breaks.

Her body cracks apart halfway down the skyline, lighting up the shadow of the tower from whence she fell. Every time her surface splits, she sheds yet further light into the gloom. She’s like a star, or like an angel. Its jaws are shearing through her spine.

But she is not aware of this. Her mind’s already dead.

She does not see it when reality cracks around her, a sphere of light and power rippling around her like sparks of lightning given form.

She doesn’t feel it as she carves three full storeys from the towers to either side, the stolen portions collapsing in upon her as a star consumes a comet, the remains of her glowing brighter than the sun.

And then she herself collapses, all that she was falling in towards a single point of light.

She is gone.

Then, the buildings start to fall.

She is not alive to hear the screams.

She awakens in the rubble, her body dressed in a stranger’s clothes.

She feels empty as she pushes through the rubble and the dust.

She finds an alleyway, and then begins to walk.

It will come for her again.