Whiskers

Sarrina flicked at her whiskers. They had been feeling off all night. She scanned the alleyway, but heard nothing. But she had learned the hard way to listen to her whiskers. She traced the scar behind her jaw. The wet streets sparkled. The temperature dropped. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she slinked down, her belly almost grazing the asphalt as she crept along.  Her whiskers rattled and she took that as a sign to run. She bolted and weaved through cans and cardboard boxes. A shadowed form emerged at the mouth of her exit. Where was she going now? She crouched behind a large paint bucket. Her lips pulled back. Sarrina strangled the hiss that built in her throat. She wrapped her panic into a small back and shoved it under her stomach. She would stay clear minded.  She didn’t know who or what that figure was but she knew it was better to play invisible than to confront it now. A heavy foot tread forward.  One boot wearing a thicker soul than the other. She sniffed but smelled only garbage and sewer, but then an odor of frost hit her nose and the temperature plummeted. The raindrops left behind turned into ice and frost coated the ground under her paws and up the can she hid behind. The thudding got louder and the air was thick with biting ice. Her paws ached and screamed to find warmer ground just outside of the alleyway. No white ice glistened from the street behind the shadow. She held her breath. She felt the thickness of the cold above her. The air had begun to tear at her nose and ears. It would have scrapped her lungs if she allowed the air inside of her. Soon the thunk of the boots moved past and the thickness of the cold eased. She slowly released her breath and then counted to ten. She prepared for the sprint of her life.

About the author

Carley Hibbert

I just finished writing my first novel The Villain's Assistant. I'm preparing to submit it to an interested publisher.

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