Member-only story
The Girl Who Runs
A Post-Apocalypse Short Story
The girl should know better, but October is her favourite month. Besides, the others are sleeping; she’ll be back before sunrise, before they’re awake.
She steps outside and the brown dog follows her. The air is sharp. Polished. Her pulse quickens and her quadriceps twitch. Instinctively, she breathes more deeply.
She looks at the tree line in the distance and hesitates momentarily. So many days punctuated by fear and second-guesses. So many restless nights.
But the moment passes.
The girl ties and then reties her laces, her fingers all thumbs. When she straightens and reaches her arms high over her head, first one way and then the other, the knots of tension in her back loosen and let go. She is awake.
Her body returns to her, and seconds later, she is over the fence and across the field where the moon throws fingers of diffused light across long-forgotten hay.
The dog runs beside her like nothing has changed.
The girl eases into a steady, practised stride. Her ragged breathing evens out. She finds her pace, smiles, and runs a little faster. The cold air whistles past her ears, a sound she had almost forgotten, and despite the hunger in her belly, her body is lean and strong and quick…
