Looking at the title of one of the books on my shelf, the following story came to mind:
I stop, tears streaming down my cheeks. Soft whispers caress me, building in sound slowly, the harshness of the words with them. The snap of stiff wood to my right, a yell of triumph to my left.
Fingers of fear creep over me, prodding, pressing, pulling, refusing to leave me alone. My feet find movement and the relentless rain stabs at my mouth, my nose, my eyes.
I think of my pursuers. I know what they did to Annie; I know what they’ll do to me.
A shimmering light catches my eye. How can I have ended up back here? Pretty pools of sparkling blue dance on the water, mesmerising, motioning me forward. I’m sure I can see Annie. She is smiling, beckoning me.
Hands grab me. Rough, snatching handfuls of hair. The ducking stool awaits, but I am no longer afraid.
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