Drip, Drip, Drip

Drip, drip, drip.

Every time I stopped moving, freezing behind some small bushes, I heard the sound.

Drip, drip, drip.

I could have stopped it, sure, but I needed all my focus on scanning my surroundings.

Drip, drip, drip.

I had to assume it was still chasing me, I couldn’t rest until I found help, or secure shelter, or at least a weapon.

Drip, drip, drip.

When my fingernails began to turn blue, I had to staunch the bleeding. I found a ridge, and tied my shirt around the wound.

Drip, drip, drip.

Those drops of saliva fell onto me…