I love it when The Idea Mill posts lead writers to use something in their own fiction. Check out this micro-fiction by Victo Dolore.
He fell to his knees, gasping for air.
A strange sensation at his fingers brought confusion and he glanced down at his hands. They were clutching a knife, his knife, sticky with blood.
A dark crumpled form lay a few feet away, its face buried in the damp ground of the forest floor, deathly still.
He tried to take longer breaths. He needed more air.
Shadows played tricks with his eyes in the twilight, making every tree seem a menace. Were they moving closer?
Yes. Yes, they were.
He struggled to stand but found it was impossible as he still could not breathe. His chest felt as if it would explode. At the same time, all of his senses seemed to come alive. He could see things for what they really were. He could hear things he had never heard before. His hands and feet felt alive, somehow stronger.
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