The sounds of his footsteps reached me long before I could see him, slow but determined. Ice filled my stomach. I clawed at the concrete, leaving bloody streaks as I shredded my fingertips. His cruel lips twisted and I whimpered.
I knew that voice. I belonged to that voice.
His soft lips against my temple. I was safe, or was safety just another illusion?
[bctt tweet=”Is this #drabble an illusion? “]
Check out Bealevon Nolan’s drabble to this photo.