Transience
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The ghastly smell of the burlap bag that suffocated her for most of the trip lingered on her face and hair. Her own dripping sweat still reeked of its pungent, mildewed odor. It had made her want to vomit. Now the remnants of its awful smell kept her focused as she raced through thick, jagged branches, determined to live. Sharp stones jutting from the uneven ground jabbed and sliced into her bare feet mercilessly. No fear of injury. The alternative was death.
She maneuvered through the endless woods, glancing back just once — he was gaining on her, only a few strides behind. She threw her forearms up to cover her face and dashed right through serrated bushes, the thorny brush ripping up her thin white sundress, tearing at her soft flesh. She imagined she was a rabbit, sprinting from a hungry dog. The analogy kept her from breaking mentally, kept her body moving.
As he dragged her from the car, her captor hadn’t noticed her bindings had come loose. She’d been patiently working on them during the drive as rusty, pointed springs jabbed into her skin through the ripped vinyl and yellow foam of the backseat. When the time came and she felt an opportunity, she took it; landing a swift, crushing kick to his groin that doubled him over in surprised shock. She untangled the rope from her hands, tore the bag from her head and disappeared into the dark woods.