She woke up at 4:00am and had her running shoes on by 4:05. At 4:07 she was out the door, settling into a slow jog that brought her to the beginning of the local running trail.
The leaves were a dark, rich green, and their rustling sounded like rain. No one else was around. She took off into the woods, running and breathing complementing each other in natural rhythm, down a path that ran parallel to a small creek. It was the kind of creek kids used to catch tadpoles in, back when kids were allowed to play outside.
No one was allowed outside anymore.
When she ran, she liked to imagine herself running as calm and easy as the water in the creek. She stayed calm and easy, even as the trail rose and fell with the terrain. Over the rusted bridge, past the pile of wood that was never collected, and deeper into the woods she ran. She tried to breathe in as much air as she could. She tried to make her strides as long as she could.
At 4:34, the run began to slow into a jog, and the jog into a leisurely walk. There were no forest animals here, and the creek had turned into a dry bed a quarter mile back. The darkness was inky and slick, almost as if winter had taken away the hope of sunrise. She continued to walk, each step a crisp breach of the forest silence. But soon it was silent no longer, and she was not alone.
A low moan came from the old oak tree in front of her. Even with no light, she knew what it was, and the next step was her last. She put her feet together in first position, just like when she used to take ballet classes, before she learned that to survive she needed to run instead of dance. With her toes pointing straight ahead and her arms stilled at her sides, she closed her eyes.
As her skin and flesh were torn away to reveal bone, she counted the number of windows from a remembered image of her church. It was her clever way of keeping the saline from spilling out of the corners of her eyes. Five windows on the left wall, with four speakers attached on that side, she reminded herself. Decayed teeth, cold and carrying the metallic tang of her blood, dug into her upper arm as she fought to keep still, fought to keep herself from running. Two large windows with stained glass, she thought, as the soft tissues of her belly were devoured. Three giant window panes on each side of the church entrance, she remembered wistfully, as her thighs were stripped of muscle.
Her entrails fell out and she caught them, instinctively, before checking herself and letting them go. Blood flowed freely now and the darkness rose up to claim her.
Before her skull cracked open from the rocks it was smashed against, she thought, It had been a beautiful church.
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