30.
I am seconds away from pummeling face-first on the ground; I can all but feel the now-mangled grass calling my name.
Each breath I take feels icy in the back of my throat, and every other second, I notice darkness creeping at the edges of my vision.
Not a fun experience, if you ask me. All I need is a pillow, and I guarantee I’d fall in a slumber so deep that it’d take the world crumbling to shit for me to wake back up.
But I fight against the constant heaviness in my limbs, unwilling to miss the moment Fredrick finally pays the price for his audacity.
Pain surges through my bruises, but my sense of vengeance pulses stronger in my head, which gives me enough strength to put one foot in front of the other.
I’ve got this; I can make it.
I can, can’t I?