The Hunted by Bailey Engel

It was a rainy day,

 The sky was full of dark clouds. 

The air smelled like death,

Not so much that it smelled like death,

 But sounded like death.

Shots were being fired.

It was hunting season.

It was time for me

 To put all my practice before this to good use.

Practice of running and dogging bullets.

 It was an exhilarating feeling,

For the hunter and me.

The feeling of not knowing if I was going to get hit,

 A nervous feeling of anxiety.

 One of use would either be

Excited, sad, or gone.       

I pounced around

As long as I possible could

Until…

BOOM!

I was hit, but just barley,

So I kept going.

I made it to a thin, narrow spot

That I knew the hunter wouldn’t be able to

Fit or squeeze into.

At last

I was safe.

---