I hid in the attic. I could hear them. It happened so suddenly.

When I looked out the window I saw the mountains on fire. A chorus of confident, heavy footsteps approached like lava spreading across the land. Slowly from a distance, terrifyingly fast once it was too late.

And so I hid. I wasn't in a proper state of mind to know that you can't hide from lava - however it finds you, you will burn. All of my senses were focused on tracking the footsteps below. So I waited.

Panicked footsteps ran away. Heavy footsteps ran upstairs. They were close. I waited by the attic door, hoping they'd pass me by.

The door flew open. A man in heavy military gear pulled me down. He held a gun to my head. He shot me.

A dull, warm, stinging sensation. I should be dead. Aren't I dead? I let the feeling in my head envelop me whole. It's warm... like sunlight. If this is death, then death isn't so bad. Just as I thought that, the blurry sound of footsteps outside woke me up and I sat up like a zombie returning to the living once more.

It wasn't over. I can't waste time feeling. If I don't move, I'll be discovered and killed again. And if I wake up again, I will be killed again. Over and over and over and over. If I don't run, I'm going to die.

Is death inevitable? There wasn't time to ponder such things. I could only let my instinct to survive move my body. I don't want to die. I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die

I should never have woken up. If I am killed, please let me stay dead.

(I woke up. My forehead felt warm.)