Sarah’s foot slipped on the wet leaves and she fell to the ground with a loud grunt. Alyssa turned at the sound.

“Keep going,” Sarah whispered frantically. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Alyssa hesitated as Sarah scrambled to her feet. She started running again, the leaves that had caused her fall now muffling their footsteps. Alyssa ran ahead of her, following the dark, narrow path ahead of them.

The deep baying of the hounds echoed off the trees, growing closer and closer. The light fall of rain did little to slow the hounds now that they were on the scent. Above them, the clouds and the moon played a vicious game, first hiding then revealing their trail.

Where’s the rain? Sarah thought. It has to come. She had planned their escape for years. She knew the right time, the right season, the right path, the right weather. Everything had to be exactly right for this to work. Her life depended on it. Her daughter’s life depended on it.

But despite the threatening skies, the rain hadn’t come. And now the hounds were closing in, their masters not far behind.

“Mom!” Alyssa cried as she fell to the ground. Sarah helped her up, but she immediately fell back with a cry of pain.

“My ankle,” she moaned. A shaft of moonlight broke through the leaves, revealing the pain and fear in her eyes. She struggled to her feet, only to fall again.

“We only have to get to the river, honey. We just need to make it to the river,” Sarah whispered.

With a strength born of desperation and a mother’s love, Sarah managed to lift Alyssa off the ground. Half carrying, half dragging her, they continued their flight down the narrow trail. Dark branches reached for them, grabbing, clutching, trying to tear Alyssa from her grasp.

Sarah’s breath came in harsh gasps, the cool air burning her lungs. Alyssa was a dead weight in her arms, at times barely conscious.

The clouds drifted away and Sarah saw the shimmer of moonlight on water. Almost there, she thought.

Abruptly, the hounds went quiet. Sarah stopped, holding her breath, listening, but only heard the hard pounding of her heart. She stared back through the trees, looking for any sign of pursuit. The black outlines of the forest met her eyes.

Then she saw it. The faint bobbing of a flashlight. Then another. Then another. Coming for her. Coming for Alyssa.

She grabbed Alyssa and ran for the river. The noise of the hounds started again, frantic as they struck the fresh trail. She could hear the men thrashing through the underbrush, following the relentless animals.

A break in the trees revealed the river, flowing deep and quiet. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she struggled towards it.

A pebble rolled beneath her foot. Suddenly she was falling, her body tangling with Alyssa’s, unable to break their fall.

The baying echoes stopped as the hounds closed in.

I saw her as I rounded the end of the car. She had her back to me as she strolled along the concrete walkway. Oblivious to my approach, she glanced around carelessly. Suddenly, as if heeding some silent alarm, she glanced back. Seeing me, she shrieked and ran.

I yelled, “Stop!” She didn’t. I gave chase.

Rather short with stocky legs, one wouldn’t believe the girl to be quick. Shortly into the chase, I realized one who believed that would be quite mistaken. I expected the gap between us to close almost immediately. Instead, it decreased by only inches, a foot at the most. Not accustomed to foot races, I knew I had to catch up fast, lest I grow winded and begin to fall back. Once more I called out for her to halt. She sprinted on, my cries unheeded.

Pushing myself harder, my frustration grew. She was a smart girl. Didn’t she know I was trying to help her . . . protect her. If she succeeded in escaping, who knows what might befall her. I tend not to be overdramatic, but in her case one wrong step, one foolish move, could mean the difference between life and death.

She turned left and checked to see if I was still following. Her fears confirmed, she grew more determined to distance herself from me. Her legs, awkward yet efficient, continued to carry her away, her shoulder length, sandy brown hair bouncing with every stride. Still, despite all her efforts, I began to make up ground. Soon I closed the gap by half. The next several feet drew me even closer. Unfortunately, my breathing came quicker and my heart pumped laboriously. I wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace long.

Up ahead I saw another turn in the walk. Here I found an opportunity. If I left the concrete path and cut across the lot on my left, I might be able to shorten the distance and intercept her just around the bend. I took the chance and angled to my left.

As I had hoped, my quarry was oblivious to my move . I forced one last burst of speed from my tiring legs, hoping to beat her to the rendezvous point.

My efforts were rewarded.

I leapt back on to the sidewalk several feet in front of the running girl. I dropped to one knee, put out both hands and grabbed her shoulders, stopping the three-year-old before she collided full force into my chest. She screamed in shock and surprise.

“Sophia!” I scolded. “You may not run away from Daddy! When I say ‘stop’ you need to stop. You could run into the street and get hit by a car. Do you understand?”

I knew she didn’t fully understand, but it was obvious from her tears that she was aware she did something wrong.

Standing, I lifted her up and balanced her on my hip. Sophia reached her arms around me and gave me a gentle squeeze as we started off in the direction we just came.

Upon receiving a miniature shopping cart for his birthday, Sam immediately insisted we go to the store. We were low on food anyway and I didn’t feel like hearing him complain. But it’s not easy loading up an antsy kid and his small buggy. Especially when you’re on crutches.

Once we were finally inside the store, Sam took off like the coaster in Space Mountain. He was zigzagging this way and that, at a pace I couldn’t hope to match.

I hurried after him but felt obliged to stop at a display he toppled over as he sped past. I was wondering how many shattered candy canes I would be responsible for buying, but figured that because they were on after-Christmas clearance I could just right the display and shove the candies back into the bin. After all, I had to put the brakes on that kid.

It wasn’t easy navigating the aisles while hobbling on crutches, so I stashed them in my cart and tried to lean on the crossbar for support. I managed a sort of hop-and-glide approach that sped me along a bit more smoothly. But the front right wheel of my cart was wonky and kept flapping uselessly from side to side.

Sam hadn’t acquired the skill of looking where he was headed. He ran over the foot of a woman in heels and kept right on going. Of course I felt compelled to stop and apologize. But when I heard the sound of shattering glass, I hurried off with a sheepish grin.

Grape juice is bad enough. But mix it with a bag of flour and you’ve got a horrible purple paste. And it’s slippery too. I found myself sitting on the floor rubbing my sore ankle. But I knew I couldn’t dawdle – I had to apprehend my ornery child.

I found him in the cereal aisle, carefully stacking boxes of Cap’n Crunch in his little buggy. Well he was – until he saw me. And then he was off with a squeal.

I temporarily lost him. But when I saw a handprint in a custom-decorated cake, I knew I was on the right track. I caught up with him just as he was about to liberate the lobsters from their tank with a well-aimed can of peas. Unfortunately, I stepped into the projectile’s path and once again ended up on the floor. Rubbing my head and grasping onto the cart for support, I struggled back to my feet. I couldn’t help wondering what the other shoppers were thinking.

Finally, I had him cornered. There’s only one entrance to the bulk-foods section and I spotted him zooming toward a giant bin of M&Ms. I rushed toward my wanton son, hoping to put an end to the mayhem. Unfortunately, my momentum was greater than my control and I ended up head first in a barrel of caramels. The last thing I remembered was the sound of my son’s cart zipping away.

The savannah swelters in washed out hues,
rippling horizons with heat wave views,
that hide tawny backs in chest high grass,
watching, waiting for their prey to pass.

Nose to the wind, hoof scratches dry dirt,
grazing for life but ever alert.
The zebra herd clusters, tries to seek out,
each blade of grass not withered by drought.

The silent sisters pant, standing stock still,
they twitch not a whisker, frozen by will.
Death means life, on the savannah they wed,
the pride must endure, the pride must be fed.

Breath catches, muscles coil, ready to run,
the song of ages, sang anew, once again has begun.
The silence is shattered, black wings take flight,
from halcyon to chaos, centers life’s fight.

The herd converges, amidst braying cries,
black and white stripes confuse colorless eyes.
Hoof bucks, fang rends as a braying voice pleads,
claws scratch, square teeth bite, the savannah bleeds.

The sisters converge on their pre-chosen goal,
the hoofed one's child, a week old new foal.
Jump and kick no thought but escape,
turn and pounce, evolutions sole shape.

Through the shadow of the Acadia tree,
no thought but flight, just striving to break free.
The foal shoots left then banks back once again,
but sharp claws sink in and it is then,

that death brings life, victory from defeat,
the circle unbroken, natures complete.
She has chosen the heft of her weave,
the dust drinks in what the lions leave.

There was a chance they had forgotten about the locker room door that opened onto the football field.

Mattie bolted down the steps and looked out the small window in the door. Lori and Dawn were out there; they saw her. She headed back to the stairs; the door sprung open. As the girls charged her, Mattie fell, hitting her knee on the fifth step. She hurled her geometry book at them and dashed up the stairs.

She headed for the Boys’ Room and locked herself into a stall: shaking cold, smothered in hot sweat.

Jefferson High was an old building; during the day its creaks were camouflaged by a thousand teenage voices. But now, an hour after school let out on Friday, the building was deserted.

But not deserted by the half dozen girls who stood guarding the entrances. Mattie knew she only had minutes until they figured out where she was; she had to move. All she could think about was the slash mark on Stacy’s face.

For Mattie, the text message during seventh hour had said it all:
“After school all doors covered.”

Her knee hurt; her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She fished in her backpack for a rubber band and pulled her hair up. Cautiously opening the door, she crept down the hall and tried opening the door to the art room; it was locked.

“There she is,” Alicia screamed from down the hall.

Mattie ran for the stairs; she could hear Alicia behind her. At the top, she slammed the fire doors shut and pushed the hall monitor’s desk against them.

She ran down the hall, trying every door but the biology lab. That’s where they had trapped Stacy last week.

Mattie ducked into the nurse’s office; the inner office was locked but the waiting room area was open.

“Have to sit down” Mattie thought, “just for a minute.”

She collapsed onto the sofa; the next second she felt someone grab her ankle. It was Moira. Mattie threw her backpack at Moira’s head and pushed the door open to the counseling area adjoining the nurse’s office.

All the inner offices were locked. She dashed back into the hall and ran for the steps. A pack of them were running together now, not far behind her.

On the landing she threw her shoe out into the first floor corridor; that would momentarily get them off track. Then she continued down to the basement nursery where teenage mothers left their babies during the day. Mattie had volunteered here; she knew there was a door that locked from the inside.

Exhausted, she crawled under the end crib, trembling. Quiet. Blessed quiet.

And then she heard the sound of a key turning—and, after that, the sound of several sweet-sounding soprano voices:

“Rock-a-bye, Mattie on the tree top.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
And down will come Mattie, cradle and all.”

Stan was out to achieve a new personal best Commuter Count.

The rules were simple: Demonstrate driving expertise and route knowledge by lawfully passing as many cars as possible per mile. Since city boulevards yield the best scores, Stan drove to his favorite, Chestnut Avenue.

Waiting at the intersection for a suitable clot of cars to pass, Stan spotted another car--a Honda--that bore the decal of the secretive Commuter Counting Coalition. Stan grinned: Passed Triple-C members count double.

The chase was on.

Stan turned left onto Chestnut Avenue, quickly upshifting to third, and immediately passed a Chevy in the right lane.

One.

Ahead at 47th Street, the light was red, and a Dodge waited to turn left.

Turn signal. Clutch. Gas. Downshift. Stan eased into the right lane, passing four cars stuck behind the Dodge, and hit the intersection just as the light turned green.

Five.

Clutch. Upshift. Gas. Turn signal. Left lane. Stan quickly passed two cars that had turned onto Chestnut ahead of him.

Seven.

Turn signal. Right lane. Thirty miles per hour.

The Honda was now in the same block. Stan swore as an idiot in front of him stopped to parallel park without signaling.

Brake. Turn signal. Clutch. Gas. Downshift. Left lane. Clutch. Upshift. Gas. Turn signal. Right lane. Thirty miles an hour.

Eight.

At 46th Street, the Honda was momentarily slowed by a left-turning van, but managed to duck into Stan's lane just ahead of him. They passed three other cars that weren't so nimble.

Eleven.

Stan's SUV was three car lengths behind the Honda's bumper now, and they wove four blocks through city traffic, passing seven cars, staying mostly in the right lane. They both scored five additional cars by deftly changing lanes twice, midblock, when a bus blocked traffic.

Twenty-three.

A right-turning car surprised the Honda, and Stan pulled alongside in the left lane. As they drove past 42nd Street at the posted speed, Stan was suddenly distracted by flashing headlights in his mirror.

It was a Hyundai, driven by a selfish Road Rager, unconstrained by law or civility. The Rager swerved behind the Honda, knocking the side mirror off of a parked Ford in the process, and then whipped back behind Stan. Obviously an amateur.

At 40th Street, a cement truck waited to turn left.

Stan caught the eye of the Honda driver, and made two quick hand signals, one Triple-C member to another. He was rewarded with a nod. The Rager pulled to within inches of Stan's bumper and flashed the high beams again. Moron.

Approaching the cement truck, and at the last possible moment, the Honda hit the brakes; Stan ducked in ahead of it, and the Rager had no chance. He slammed into the back of the truck with a particularly satisfying crunch.

Thirty.

Short of his personal best, but Stan waved to the Honda driver as he entered the freeway. While he hadn't made top ten today, he'd helped to make the world a safer place.

Melana crouched behind the fence, her breathing labored, her heart pounding. Damn, she thought, watching her quite-visible breath waft through the frigid night air, failing to dissipate before reaching the height of the fence. He’s gonna see me for sure.

Running up the street was no good – too many dogs to give her away. Down the street, towards the dead end, was no better. Pounding on a neighbor’s door seemed like a plausible option, but which neighbor? They had all been his friends long bef- What was that?!

As she dashed for the bushes on the side of the house, Melana heard twigs snapping in the backyard. He was near, very near. There was only one chance for a clean getaway, and she knew it. Quietly and quickly, she made for the front door. Then, turning the knob ever so carefully, she pushed the door open… slowly. But the squeaking hinges gave her away.

“Melana?!” He gutted out with unmistakable rage, his heavy footsteps lumbering down the hall. Grabbing her keys off the entryway table, she bolted out the door just as he rounded the corner.

“Melana?! You get back here... NOW!

Oh, no! His car was behind hers. She was trapped! No, wait - she had a key to his Jag on her keychain. Disabling the alarm, she slid inside, locked the doors, and turned the ignition. Nothing.

Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for him, as she continued to turn the key with panicked zeal. Where had he gone?

“Get out of the car, Melana!”

As Felix pounded on the driver’s window, Melana screamed. And then the engine turned over.

“You can’t run, Melana! If I can’t have you, no one will!”

Unaccustomed to driving a manual, she grinded the gear shift into reverse. The car lurched backwards into the street, almost thrusting Melana into the steering wheel with the force. But after another grinding shift, the Jag moved forward, carrying her hurriedly towards the entrance of the subdivision.

At the top of the hill, she paused for a moment. Where was she going? She couldn’t go to any of the obvious places – her parents, her brother’s, her best friend’s. Definitely not the police. Who among them would believe that their pal and fellow officer was a controlling and violent sonofabit-

The headlights were closing in on her when realization struck: Felix! Flooring the accelerator, Melana turned the wheel to the left, speeding off as fast as the Jaguar would take her. Big mistake, she soon realized. The local high school football game had just ended, and there were cars and people everywhere. Weaving in and out of traffic to the yells of drivers and pedestrians alike, Melana kept driving just as fast as she felt she could.

Finally past the crowd, an open straightaway ahead of her, Melana pressed the accelerator flat against the floorboard again. Felix’s headlights were less than a quarter mile behind her, and she knew that if he caught her, she would never live to see another day.

Checking his position in her rear view mirror again, Melana failed to notice the “Curve Ahead” yellow sign she’d just zoomed past at eighty-nine miles per hour…

The mouse sniffed at some crumbs, listening out warily for the cat. A noise! It jumped around- the big black cat was just getting ready to pounce…

The mouse ran, out from under the table, across the kitchen floor, into the living room as fast as it could go, with the cat close behind the whole time.

The mouse shot under the settee, its favourite hiding place. The cat hissed, swiping its paws under the edge, getting angrier and angrier as it failed to reach far enough back.

The mouse cowered further back, watching the paws sweep the ground in front of it, knowing that it wouldn’t give up too soon. Then came the sound the mouse dreaded- human footsteps. They stopped and the human spoke.

“What’s under there then Tibbles?”

The mouse didn’t understand the words, but it guessed what was coming. The human knelt, began lifting the edge of the sofa, allowing the cat to shoot forward.

“Go on, catch it Tibbles.”

The mouse shot out as the human spoke again, racing past, back out to the kitchen, with the cat right behind.

The back door was open! The mouse shot through the doorway into the garden, darting into the grass, which, severely in need of cutting, hid the mouse from the cat.

The cat crouched with narrowed eyes, watching for the slightest movement. There! It pounced.

The mouse raced off, thankful that the cat was little more than kitten, still young enough to mistake the rustling of a leaf for a mouse.

The cat, realising its mistake, shot after the mouse chasing it into the flowerbed. The mouse sat very still… would the cat see it?

It watched the cat’s eyes carefully, sweeping the flowerbed for the slightest glimpse of its prey. Suddenly its eyes fixed on the mouse, and, not waiting for the cat to pounce the mouse ran as fast as it could, dodging into a nearby hedge.

The branches were too far apart, the cat could fit, slinking into the hedge to find its quarry. The mouse crept out the other side into the next-door neighbour’s garden. Big mistake.

Here there was no overgrown lawn, though the mouse blended in fairly well with the light coloured stones. Not well enough, however, to fool a cat.

It shot out of the hedge diving for the mouse, which skittered frantically across the stones.

The mouse darted round a flowerpot, and the cat chased after it. Under a tree and the cat was momentarily distracted by some birds, not for long, but long enough for the mouse to dash around the narrow edge of the pond.

Right up against the fence the narrow ledge was no option for the cat, and the other way around was blocked. The pond wasn’t very wide. It might be able to jump it.

The mouse hoped it couldn’t. The cat thought it could. It took the risk, jumping out towards the mouse on the far side. It was a close thing.

She pushed her way through the crowded market at top speed, checking over her shoulder to see how close they were behind- too close.

They were only a metre or two away and gaining on her- looking around quickly she darted into the next market stall and joined the crowd inspecting the hats for sale.

Pretending to be just another casual shopper she watched as they pushed hurriedly past, still thinking she was ahead of them. After a quick glance around she pressed her way out and started back the way she had come.

Looking up she saw with a shock that there was another one of them, and he was looking straight at her, not more than a few feet away. She ducked down, swallowed up by the crowd, and then crept down a deserted alleyway.

He would be after her any second; he was sure to have seen her go into the alleyway. She looked around for somewhere to hide and dived quickly under some bin bags.

Footsteps sounded nearby- not the bustling noise of the market but closer. She held her breath, praying they wouldn’t find her. She knew what would happen if they did.

The footsteps went past her, then slowed down before stopping. They turned and walked back towards the pile of bin bags, stopping just next to them. She tensed, ready to run if she had to.

They seized the top two bags, pulling them off of her. She leapt up and started to run but they caught the sleeve of her jacket.

She wrenched herself free and the jacket tore as she escaped back into the crowded market.

It was harder to blend in now that she stank of old rubbish and was wearing a ripped jacket. She dipped into a clothes stall and ditched the jacket, grabbing a new one off of the rack and racing back out before anyone could spot her.

She saw the original two up ahead and hid in a cheese stall. At least the smell didn’t notice so much in here.

They had obviously seen her go in though, as they appeared in the entrance a second later before ploughing their way towards her, leaving a trail of angrily muttering people behind them. She pushed her way back out, leaving an equally angry trail behind her. She heard several comments about rude people who just pushed others out of the way with no consideration, but didn’t wait to hear more. She pulled up the canvas side of the stall and ducked under it quickly.

Joining a larger crowd around a jewellery stand she looked around carefully to see where they were. They had left the cheese stall now, but didn’t seem to have spotted her yet.

Slowly and more subtly she edged her way through the crowd, widening the gap between her and them. As she darted from that crowd to one around a shoe stand one of the pursuers spotted her and they were off again.

Klyde tried to scream, cry and vomit at the same time. He was only partially successful. He did vomit, the wind whipping it back in his face and trailing it behind him in a yellow-green trail.

“Hey Klyde, you mind not staining the scales? I just took a bath last month,” the fifty foot dragon yelled back to him over the roaring wind.

Klyde could only nod as the dragon banked right so hard it took Klyde’s stomach a few moments to realize its error and find him once again.

Bemoaning his fate, Klyde managed to ask whatever gods there were for peasants, why he was perched on the back of a sarcastic lizard a thousand feet in the air.

“Because you’re in love, stupid,” the dragon called back.

The dragon’s motives seemed to be a bit more basic.

“Did you see the tail on that lady dragon we are chasing? Whoa, that’s a thick tail, juicy, just they way I like them,” the dragon said.

However Klyde was in no mood to ponder the intricacies of the dragon’s mating instincts. Left, right, then straight up they shot, in pursuit of the weaving villain who had kidnapped the Princess. Klyde who was nestled in between the dragon’s back spines was treated to a dragon powered wedgie as they shot upwards. Klyde tried to shift uncomfortably and remove his small clothes from near his spleen, just as the villain and his female dragon decided that they wanted a closer look at the ground.

The dragon Klyde was riding followed, tucking in wings to streamline his form, nose tipping straight down and plummeting faster than he had imagined possible.

I can see my hut from here, Klyde thought as he almost passed out. The downward race was horrible, his vision narrowed and he started to see spots as the blood rushed to varying parts of his body all at once. Then a bone jarring pain as the dragon leveled out, its wings scrapping the top of the trees and bending them in the wind of his passing.

Klyde was a peasant, he wanted nothing more right now than to see his pigs and harvest the bit of mud his Lord let him farm, he had no business falling in love with a Princess and he figured this was his retribution from the gods.

Just then Klyde looked up to see the narrow ravine both dragons were aiming for in their chase. It was much too small for them to fit into he thought, as both dragons turned on their side, to fit where they would not normally.

However, both dragons, in the ecstasy of their chase misjudged and clipped their wings on the stone of the ravine. What followed was a tangle of a few tons of lizard moving at unstoppable speed, meeting the immovable object of the hard ground. Dirt, stone, scale and three helpless humans were tossed into the air as their chase came to an abrupt end.