E

E is for Exercise

Just minutes ago, Tori’s legs had been carrying her through seven-minute miles. Now, the left one is dragging behind her, leaking blood onto the burning asphalt, and the right leg is cramping. Every second it threatens to give in. She stumbles. A pain, a venom, crawls through her body. Below her, the Florida sun has cooked the bike trail as hot as a skillet. She can almost feel it through her shoes. Half of her mind is trying to balance; the other half is focused on the lumbering beast behind her.

The beast is too hungry to mind the heat. Its scales almost sizzle as it drags itself forward with its two, massive forearms. It’s long, bat-like fingers painfully grip at the ground, and they seize as the beast laboriously pursues its prey. Its all too human eyes watch Tori close, and its all too human mouth drips with spit, venom, and blood. It’s tasted her once. It refuses to let her go. It failed the ambush, but if it can push itself just a bit further, everything will be alright. It hasn’t eaten in weeks. Worse, it can almost hear its young behind it, pleading from the ditch in high-pitched voices. Two have already died. It refuses to let the other three wither.

The two race onwards, in the heat of the Florida sun. It collapses first. Its tail spasms, trying to give it one final push forward. In a cruel irony, Tori collapses barely twenty feet away. Its tongue blisters as it licks her blood off the bike trail.

They both close their eyes.