Samantha Mackey

Omen

Naked, exhausted, and bloody, I ran. Nearby, an owl hooted. I grimaced and pumped my legs faster. Owls were an omen. Harbingers of death. I changed direction and jerked to a halt behind a large pine tree. My lungs burned and I tried to swallow ragged breaths, begging my body to quiet itself. I listened intently to the woods around me. Wind whispered through branches and rattled the dying leaves. A branch snapped in the distance. I could feel my pulse in the cuts on my bare feet. Blood dripped slowly down the shallow gash in my hip. The sweat was already evaporating off of my bare skin, leaving me sticky and cold. I gripped my wound, as if the hunters could find me by scent alone. I was lucky the bullet had only grazed me. The woman running next to me had not been so lucky.