Four
Sixteen carpeted steps, soft under her bare feet.
Sharp turn.
Sixteen wooden steps, splintery under her bare feet.
Sharp turn.
Sixteen stone steps, cold under her bare feet.
White wallpaper. Wooden panelling. Stone.
Sharp turn.
Sharp turn.
Sharp turn.
Her feet refused to stop walking, even though she was beating and clawing at her legs.
Sharp turn.
With one of the blows, her torch flickered.
Sharp turn.
She turned and ran. She turned and tried to run, and it was like wading through waist-high water. She tried to scream, but all that came out were gasps.
So quiet.
Before her was the light of her torch. Behind and beneath, there was the darkness.
So still.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Turn, turn, turn. Stone wood carpet turn glass corridor the door.
