MicroHorror

Hands clasped, they ran. Not daring to look at each other, barely even daring to breathe, they ran. Sneakers and high heels beat out a staccato rhythm against tile floor: slap, click, slap, click… over and over.

“I love you.” Despite the intense pain settling into her lungs, and the clenching sickness in her stomach which left room for little other than running, she had to say it. It felt right.

“I…”

She screamed. The delicate heel on her left foot broke and she went sprawling, her leg twisting at an unnatural angle and her forehead slapping against tile. He nearly went with her, but managed to pull his hand away as she fell.

“Wait!” Through blood and tears she yelled at him. She couldn’t walk on her own, and if she was going to have any chance of getting out of here she needed help.

He didn’t look back, just kept running. Her shouts for help crashed lamely against his fleeing back; she couldn’t see the tears that squeezed out between his eyes. He didn’t know which was worse: when her shouts turned to screams or when those faded to wet crunches and slurping.