I was never much of a runner. PE had always been my least favorite class. My high school teacher used to force us into running a mile nearly every single week, and would punish us with an extra lap if we ever dared to slow down. I was the one she punished the most. I had always been the slowest in my class. I've never been really into athletics, having grown up with my face practically engraved in a book. I especially despised running. I was horrible at it, and I wouldn't run for anything. However, now, I was running with more speed and passion than I've ever had in my entire life. I dashed through the dark, twisting corridors and sprinted through the narrow hallways of the labyrinth. I probably would've beaten the world record or something with the speed that I was running with as of now. What motivated, you may ask? Pure, utter, complete fear. It coursed through my veins and blinded me, shutting everything else from my mind other than just running as fast as I could. No matter how out of breath I was, no matter the cuts and scratches on my legs, no matter the fact that I had just witnessed two of my close friends get shot down, I had to keep running. Whatever I did, I couldn't let "it" catch me. It—the sniper—he had always been watching me. I never was aware of it, and it horrified me to the core. The fact that he had always known where I was, knew when I was vulnerable, always been there. Observing. Calculating. And now, all of his patience and time had finally paid off. He had caught me off guard, when I was the most vulnerable, and managed to corner me into this labyrinth of twisting hallways and intersections. Now, he was somewhere in here with me. He could be around any corner, could be hiding behind any wall. Each turn that I made, each route I decided to follow, I half-expected him to jump out and shoot me. But I couldn't think about that. I couldn't afford to think about that. All I had to do was focus on running. Running, and getting out. I would think about everything later, what to do later, about my friends later. As of now, all I needed to do was get out. I ran and ran and ran and ran. After what seemed like ages, after my legs began to slow down automatically, after most of my adrenaline faded away and my mind cleared up, after I realized just how out of breath I was, I finally it. Light. It shone from a bright green neon sign which read "exit". I nearly collapsed from joy. Hope and desperation filled me to the brim. It was in the end of the hallway. I had made it. I would be able to escape. I would be safe, at last!
I just had to make it to the end of the hallway, and I would be free. I would run to the nearest police department, and I would tell them everything that happened. I would return to my parents, and I would cry to them about everything. I would go back to high school, and this time, I would never complain about having to run ever again in PE.
I sprinted with all my might towards the exit door. With each nearing step, with each inhale, my hope just grew. I had almost reached the exit when suddenly, I froze in my tracks.
A red dot. Directly on my chest. Everything seemed to still, every inch of hope I had seemed to die and wither away. Trembling slightly, I looked up— and to my absolute pure horror—I saw it. The sniper. He stood on the walls of the labyrinth, with his gun aimed down directly at me, his finger on the trigger.
