The Mating Run by Leeka

Guilt

As I stand over the lifeless body of the Hunter, the reality of what I’ve just done begins to sink in.

“No, no, no, no, no-”

My chest heaves with each breath, and I can feel my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The

forest seems to close in on me, suffocating me with the weight of my actions.

I never wanted this. I never asked for any of it.

But he left me with no cholce, no way out.

It was t

him or me.

Tears blur my vision, and I turn away from the Hunter’s body, taking shaky steps backward, I glance

down at my trembling hands, which are stained with his blood. The metallic scent of it fills my nose, and

I’m hit with a wave of nausea.

My eyes wander over to the camera again, its lens staring back at me, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s

watching my every move. In a dazed panic, I frantically wipe my hands on my jacket, hoping to remove

the blood, but it proves futile. The crimson color of blood stains the once gray tracksuit, leaving me in a

state of shock as i stare at it, unable to belleve what I’m seeing.

A blood-curdling scream escapes my lips.

Without a second thought, I stumble away from the scene, my hands trembling uncontrollably. I’ve got

to get out of here. With the cameras recording everything and the evidence piling up, there will be no

escaping the fact that I am the culprit.

Running at such a rapid pace, I completely neglected to take my bag with me.

Without the bag, I feel a sense of emptiness washing over me. Lying abandoned

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at the scene of the crime, my lifeline, my supplies, everything I need to survive, taunt me. However,

going back is not an option for me. Not now. It’s too late.

All I can do now is search for a more discreet hiding spot.

As I charge forward, the branches relentlessly assault my face, forcing me to swat them away in a

frenzy. I push through the thicket, feeling the sting of sharp branches scratching my cheek, but I press

on. Tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision, and I let them stream down my face as I s ob while running.

Even amidst my heavy breathing, I can still hear the mixture of pleasure and agony surrounding me.

Everywhere I turn, there are cameras, capturing my every move.

It’s as if they’re deliberately provoking me, meticulously documenting my getaway from the crime

scene. Their unblinking lenses create a suffocating weight

in the air.

Suddenly, my foot catches on a fallen log, causing me to lose my balance and land face-first in the dirt.

When I look up, I’m immediately confronted by a camera placed directly in my line of sight, recording

the entirety of my fall. I feel a dizzying sensation as if the world is spinning, unsure if it’s a result of the

guilt from my deeds. or the unrelenting scrutiny of those unrelenting cameras.

Ignoring the pain in my knees, I scramble to my feet, driven solely by the urgency to escape. Gasping

for breath, I inhale the dense aroma of pine and damp earth. With each beat, my heart intensifies,

echoing the painful reality of the danger

that surrounds me.

Each step I take deeper into the forest, my footing becomes more uncertain. As I push through the

dense foliage, the branches scrape against my arms and face, but the adrenaline keeps me from

feeling the pain.

The memory of the Hunter’s lifeless eyes is etched in my mind, a constant

accusation.

I can’t shake the haunting sound of his final breath escaping my lips.

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“I shouldn’t be blamed for this,” I tell myself, speaking with enough volume that the cameras

surrounding me pick up every word. Without realizing it, I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the

tremors run through my entire body. “It’s not on me. I did everything I could to survive.”

I have to find an inconspicuous location, a place where I can remain hidden from their prying eyes. But

my thoughts are all jumbled, making it difficult to focus. The cloud of guilt from my recent actions

impairs my judgment.

“F uck. F uck. F uck this s hit!”

I can’t go on.

Desperation grips me, my mind a chaotic tangle. The cameras-always watching, always following me. I

whirl, repeating the movement in a never-ending cycle. And everywhere, the cameras silently watch

and record. There’s nowhere to hide. I’m trapped in this never-ending nightmare, where the forest’s

unblinking electronic eyes watch my every move.

The smell of damp earth fills the air as I stumble through the underbrush, the struggle of each step

mirroring the weight of my burdens. Tears stream down my face, distorting my view, and I struggle to

find a suitable hiding place.

What’s the point? The Hunters will find me, they will.

Collapsing to my knees, I feel the unforgiving forest floor beneath me. I’m dirty, bl oody, and utterly

defeated. As I s ob, the sound seems to bounce off the trees in the woods, amplifying my cries of

despair.

“Sh it. What was I thinking when I registered for this messed up thing? I’m such an idiot!”

I guess I could just give up, let them find me, and do whatever they want.

I don’t give a dam n anymore.

Then, my ears catch a soft, distant sound.

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The sound of water. Immediately, my body tenses up, and I close my mouth with a snap.

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It’s distant, but it’s there. As I stare at my hands drenched in blood, a pressing. realization cuts through

the haze of despair-I need to wash them.

With newfound determination, I push myself up and track the source of the sound. The sharp branches

relentlessly whip against my skin, causing it to sting with each strike. As I move forward, the allure of

water intensifies, tempting me with the irresistible notion of purging the Hunter’s blood from my hands.

The closer I get, the louder the sound of flowing water becomes, providing a calming harmony in the

midst of the forest’s commotion. My heart races as I hasten my steps, finally bursting through the trees

and entering a small clearing.

In front of me, a crystal-clear stream sparkles in the dappled sunlight.

“Water,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, raspy and filled with newfound hope. “Water!”

My mouth involuntarily releases a startled laugh. With a wide smile on my face, I sprint as fast as

possible towards the stream, my laughter echoing through the air. It’s a miracle no one has chased

after me so far, but now I’m starting to believe it truly is a miracle.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a glimmer of hope for me.

With every ounce of energy I have left, I sprint and stumble to the water’s eye

My hands, stained with blood, tremble violently as I plunge them into the rushing stream. The icy water

bites at my skin, but I welcome the pain. Cupping my hands, I scoop up the water and hear the gentle

splashing sound as I wash away the crimson stains on my hands.

The water takes on a reddish tint, swirling and carrying the evidence of my

actions.

I scrub and scrub, desperate to wash away the sticky residue of blood from my

skin.

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Kneeling by the stream, I can feel the weight of my sorrow as my tears mingle with the flowing water.

The cameras may still be watching, but I don’t care. At this moment, the only sounds I hear are the

gentle lapping of the water and the rustle of leaves in the surrounding forest.

With my hands still trembling, I take a moment to drink from the stream, relishing the refreshing taste of

the cool water. It’s a small comfort, but at least it provides some solace. I can’t remain here indefinitely,

but the soothing sound of the water has rejuvenated me to carry on.

I approach the stream cautiously, my eyes fixated on the crystal-clear water, reflecting the surrounding

trees. The desire to wash away every impurity is so intense that it consumes my thoughts, like a

relentless fire. I need to feel clean. again, to wash away the gruesome memory of what I’ve done. The

stains of blood may have vanished from my hands, but the burden on my conscience refuses to

fade.

In a daze, I clumsily fumble with the zipper of my track suit, my fingers. struggling to find a grip. It feels

like time has slowed down, each movement requiring a deliberate and conscious effort. The fabric falls

to the ground, revealing my tank top and shorts underneath.

“I need to do this.”

I whisper to myself, desperately trying to calm my pounding heart. As I reach for the water, my

trembling fingers struggle to maintain a steady grip, and I splash it onto my face. I am taken aback by

the sensation, the coolness hitting me like a jolt, in stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. Feeling the

roughness of the streambed beneath my feet, I continue to scrub my cheeks. As the water swirls, it

carries away the evidence of my torment, leaving behind a sense of relief.

I can’t stop there. With unsteady hands, I dip down further, the weight of the water pressing against my

chest. The frigid air hits me like a punch, causing me to gasp. But it’s also invigorating, awakening my

senses like a jolt of electricity. My entire body is trembling as I kneel in the stream, vulnerable to the

world, but I need

this.

My fingers move to my arms, to the sleeves of my tank top. I nervously pull the

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fabric over my head, feeling a rush of relief as it glides off and disappears into the water. I shiver, not

just from the cold but from the raw vulnerability of being half-naked in this unforgiving place. My shorts

and underwear are all that remain, and it takes all my strength to peel them off.

I’m exposed, both physically and emotionally, to the elements and the world. I wash my body with the

stream’s water, scrubbing away the dirt and grime. It’s an act of desperation, of trying to regain some

semblance of control in a world that has spiraled out of it. The water flows over me, taking my sins with

it, but I know that nothing can wash away the memory of what I’ve done.

As I crouch in the stream, I realize the irony of my situation. The cameras that have haunted me are

likely capturing this moment as well. They’ll have footage of me, vulnerable and exposed, trying to

wash away the guilt that stains my soul. They’ll use it against me, I’m sure of it.

Tears mingle with the stream’s water as I’vigorously scrub my skin, creating a salty and cleansing

mixture.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, my voice filled with uncertainty, not even sure who deserved my apology. The

world? Myself? The life I’ve taken? “I’m so sorry.”

As I stand up and dress in silence, the heaviness of my damp track suit clings to my body. I can’t say if

I feel physically cleaner, but there’s an odd sensation of being refreshed and revitalized. It feels like I’ve

washed away my old self in the stream, and now I’m emerging as someone entirely new.

The cameras never cease their surveillance, a constant presence that I won’t allow to crush my

resolve. I won’t let them define who I am. The stream may not have washed away my sins, but it’s

given me the strength to keep going.

To fight, to survive, and to face whatever comes next.

And it is so funny. It feels as if the universe is toying with me, playing at mischievous game. Whatever

comes next is supposed to be a play on words, but little do I know that I am about to be taken by

complete surprise.

While I am wringing the water out of my hair, a rustle catches my attention from

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behind.

I freeze immediately, my breath catching in my throat, but it is too late.

I turn, and to my surprise, I see a face I never thought I would see.

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