Desperate.
My feet seemed heavy as I treaded, as though some shackles around my feet were preventing me from fleeing. My lungs constricted inside my chest, and my pounding lead heart slowed me. Suffocating, I pushed forward as usual. The normal clap of the heels’ staccato against the sidewalk was replaced with the slush of the ice melting beneath my boots.
On shaky legs I continued forward.
This is an excerpt from the introductory chapter of Slave, the story of my current writing-obsessed mood.
