Photo courtesy of C.E. Ayr
My heart pounds in my ears but I can still hear his footsteps behind me. The smell of fried onions hangs in the night air, even though the burger van has long gone. The streets are deserted. What does he want? Alcohol churns in my stomach and I stumble, kick off my heels, and run. He’s getting closer.
My bare feet slap against the wet pavement. I don’t see the broken glass but the shards slice into my flesh. I fall. Scream. There’s a hand on my shoulder. Hot breath against my neck.
‘Miss? You left your purse in the club.’
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries here.