You don’t think you will ever stop sprinting. The taste of sweat and blood mix inside your mouth as you attempt to catch your breath. As you run, the blood-curdling screams of the girls still haunt you. While dodging trees and branches, the red and blue lights illuminate the forest. You don’t stop running. You can never stop running.

 

You knew it was going to be a fun night. You chose the game. It was your idea. Filled with excitement, you exclaimed, “Hey, let’s do this!” As the girls stared in confusion, you clarified, “Let’s play Bloody Mary.”

 

Many of the girls protested with, “It’s a kid’s game” and “Nothing’s going to happen, anyway.” 

 

You were confident you could convince them otherwise. After a long disagreement, you and the four girls piled into the bathroom. You caught your own reflection out of the corner of your eye. As you stared, you realized you did not recognize the person staring back.  Unfazed by the experience with the mirror, you looked away and said to the girls, “Let’s begin.”

 

Your legs are getting tired now. Each leg weighs a ton as you continue to drag them along. Your lungs feel as if they are filled with smoke. Your throat feels as if you swallowed sandpaper. There are so many reasons for you to stop running—to give up. You know better than that. You don’t stop running. You can never stop running.

    

You hope that you can outrun the sirens approaching. You hope the cops will believe it was the game, that you could never hurt your “friends.” You hope that you will not get caught. You hope that wherever you choose to go next, the game can continue. For now, you know what you have to do. You have to keep running.