what are you thinking

she crawls, reaching one hand out in front of the other, scraping at the wet ground, pulling her weight along the muddy grass, fingernails full of dirt, smudges on her face, clothes torn and smeared with red. almost there, don't give up now, ignore the blackness closing in on the edges of your vision. we can make it, we have to... sweat trickles down her face and breaths come ragged and gasping. her skin crawls with dread at the thought of being caught out in the open field. flipping flashing memories play back in her mind, the order of events uncertain and the events themselves confused and blurred.. what was real, what was a dream... the rope, the man with blood covered hands, the smell of rotting flesh, the dog with one eye, the hotel hallway, the bed, the broken glass from the window...