Pursued

The mist clears and my name’s on the moss-covered gravestone, emboldened in sagging, decrepit serifs. I stare down, shins sunken in the gaping mud, writhing, bubbling, crawling up to eat me.

I turn to run… trip, look back. Death’s frostbitten mask, his gangly chalked fingers clutch my ankles with broken indignation. I scramble, desperately gripping the slipping roots, but my fingers crumble to ash.

I wake up.

The nurse is there. “Wake up, Mr. Maldon, time for breakfast.”

“Uh,” I moaned. “Sorry… bad dream.”

She helped me into my wheelchair.

“Anything that might interest the psychologist?”

“No… just the usual.”

Here's my first Draft:

Draft 1

Pursued

The mist clears and my name’s on the moss-covered gravestone, emboldened in sagging, decrepit serifs. I stare down, shins sunken in the mud, writhing, gaping, crawling up to eat me.

I turn, run… trip. I look back. Death’s chalked fingers reach up, clutching my ankles with chilled indignation.

I grip the slipping roots, but my fingers crumble to ash.

I wake up.

The nurse is there. “Wake up, Mr. Maldon, Its time for breakfast, then your chemotherapy.”

“Uh,” I moaned. “Sorry, bad dream.” She helped me into my wheelchair.

“Anything that might interest the psychologist?”

“No… just the usual.”