After running for so long, you make it home. You refused to be killed. By who ever ‘him’ was. Your boyfriend told you to run, so you ran. You locked the doors and checked all rooms. No one was there gladly. Before you could call 911, the kitchen phone rang. You didn’t answer because you knew. You knew it was likely ‘him.’ You stand there, looking down at the phone.

“Sorry about your boyfriend.” A voice near you said. You look back, it was ‘him.’

“All those muscles didn’t help much.”