Title Still in Progress.

I honestly don't like this, but please tell me what you think :)

I’m running. Running where, I’ve not a clue. A forest? I ask myself this question as my feet pound after one another, like a never-ending game of tag. No, it’s not a forest. There are trees, yes, but not enough to be considered one. I vaguely feel the impact of raindrops on my hair and skin. It’s cold, and a small breeze whips my hair back. It has to be winter, or at the least, late fall.
I allow myself to glance up at the sky for just an instant, and I spot the faint silvery glow of the moon, obscured by the thick rainclouds. But this diversion of my concentration makes me trip. I fall to the ground, scraping my hands and knees in the process. I look down, and I see I’ve fallen onto a sidewalk. Scrambling up, I push my hand to my mouth, cleaning off the blood that has now formed.
I have to keep running. Why?! What am I running from?
“I don’t know!” I immediately answer my thoughts.
But I force myself to move forward. Somehow, I know I must keep running. I focus myself on the noise of my feet colliding with the pavement. This calms me down some. I turn right on a corner, and immediately want to turn back.
A large figure molds itself within the shadows, about ten yards ahead of me. It’s facing away from me, I can tell this much from the dim glow of a random street light, but nothing else. But that stroke of luck could change any minute. I don’t want this person to see me. I fall back behind a large bush. There’s a small hole in it, which I can look through towards the figure.
Peering through, I notice that the figure is gone. Confused, I push my head up to get a better look around. It couldn’t have gone far in the past few seconds. But I guess it could have, because that’s when I feel a hand claw at my hair.
Screaming, I whirl around. I aim a fist at my attacker’s face. Or rather, what should have been its face. There was nothing there; it was just an empty space in the hood of the sweatshirt it was wearing. My hand collided with the soft cotton of the hood. This makes me scream again. But not before its hand shoves a rough rag against my mouth. I’ve no choice but to breathe in whatever substance is on it. My eyes droop almost immediately, and I feel my legs give way. I crumple in a heap on the wet ground. The last thing I remember is laughter, filled with malice and victory.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The worst way to wake up on a Saturday morning is from your neighbor’s dog barking. I swear, one day I will find the nerve to drive it to the edge of town and just leave it there. Groaning, I thrust my blankets off of me. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stretch. I look at my clock: It blinks 7:24 at me in big red numbers. I groan again. I stand up, and the old wooden floor of my room creaks under my weight.
Quietly swinging open the door, I glide over to the bathroom. My morning routine, which consists of a shower, skimming a comb through my hair, and brushing my teeth, doesn’t take me more than a half hour. I find myself pulling my old gray sweats and vintage ‘Rolling Stones’ t-shirt out of my closet. Glancing in the mirror, I can’t help but grimace. My ever-growing black hair falls to my eyes. Note to self: Get a haircut, I think to myself. I can just make out my dark brown eyes under my curtain of hair. Aiming my eyes just a bit more downward, I make out the entire skeleton-like figure that is my body. Another note to self: Gain some weight.
Swishing my hair back with a hand, I leave my room and come to a stop at the door directly across the hall from mine. Usually, there is a faint light coming from the crack at the bottom of the door, but this morning there’s nothing to see but shadows. I quickly swing open the door. I walk into the room of my step-brother, Jack. He’s only a year younger than me, he just turned fourteen, but he has this chronic fear of darkness. Nothing freaks him out more. So it’s very odd to see his night light off.
I turn to his bed, pressed against the corner. I see a lump bulging in the middle of the bed and roll my eyes. His night light must have died in the middle of the night, and he didn’t even realize. Personally, I think that he’s over-exaggerating his phobia. Just to mess with him, I back up to the wall, take a running start, and collapse heavily on top of the lump on the bed. I expect him to wake up scrabbling at me, so when nothing beneath me moves, I rip off the covers.