Myth Gods Tech - Omnibus Edition: Science Fiction Meets Greek Mythology In The God Complex Universe by George Saoulidis

till the predator attacks, I couldn’t make myself calm.
Every distant noise, every sway of the branches, made me stand up
and get ready to bolt. It was ridiculous, I knew, my logical self
knew, that there was no attack yet, but my hypothalamicus or
whatchacallit was screaming at me, making me wanna run
away.
    In
retrospect, choosing the forest was a bad idea. I know. We haven’t
gone to the second attack yet.
     
     
    The
second attack found me running even as the watch beeped.
    Sure,
reason said that a running start wouldn’t hurt, but this wasn’t
coming from any logical part of my brain. She found me running and
chased after me, flowing in the air as if through something thick,
just as she did every time.
    Thick,
thick kariola. Never giving up, always chasing me. Always following
me. Thick, thickety-thick.
    My
running brought me towards the houses, a plain road separating them
from the forest. I ran a wide arc and got back towards the forest.
My feet slapped on the pavement and made a lot of noise, but nobody
seemed to get rattled. Even if they had, I didn’t even look back. I
jumped over a bench and dove between the trees. There was nothing
to throw at her, and I would have tried to, even though she didn’t
seem to mind any obstacles in her path.
    I was so
scared.
    Sixty
seconds is an eternity when something is chasing you in the dark
forest.
    I
panted, my foot giving out and I fell to the side as I cursed. Pine
needles pricked my hands, not that sharp so as to make me bleed,
but enough to feel it and decide not to do it again. The Erinyes
came at me around a tree, smiled, so I threw a handful of brown
pine needles at her and dashed away.
    I had
made it.
     
     
    The
third attack found me facing her head on. I stood myself high, my
feet wide in a stance of projected power. She came at me, leaning
down as she closed the distance, her hand sweeping the dirt floor
with purple sparks.
    My
armour of confidence shattered and I fell back, stumbled on a small
crevasse on the dirt, probably carved by a small winter stream that
was now dry, and sharp rocks scratched my hands. I fussed, kicking
dirt and ran away in a straight line more or less, zig zagging
through the forest.
    The minute must have been up, well, minutes ago but I still ran till I
found the far end of the forest. It came to a wide road, after that
were condos. I looked back, panting, but not that much, checked the
time, confirmed that I was running away from my shadow for a good
six minutes and turned to walk back.
    Then the
adrenaline left me and the pain kicked in. Cramps, scratched arms,
a pounding head, a wheezing chest. Boy, was I out of practice. I
promised myself I’d hit the gym tomorrow.
    I was
calm, body aching, walking slowly back at my ‘camp.’
    Then a
bat flew over my head, scared me shitless and I ran the rest of the
way.
     
     
    The
fourth attack found me up a tree.
    I know,
I know. She floats. Yeah, you can say that, sitting in your cozy
bed, hugging your pillow tight, safe and sound. It was impossible
at that point for me to think properly. It was around two o’clock,
I hadn’t slept all night even though I thought I’d manage to sneak
in a nap, and I was aching and tired and terrified.
    It
seemed like a good idea at the time, climbing up a tree to avoid
something that followed me. When she came, she lifted her head
straight at me and began climbing the trunk of the tree as if
lifting herself from her fingers. But it felt wrong somehow, you
know, not… realistic.
    Who
cares, as soon as she got up to me I leapt down in a soft patch of
shrubbery and ran away. At least I tried, cause my leg hurt like
hell and I couldn’t move.
    The
Erinyes stayed above me for a few seconds, still holding on to the
tree. I looked up, a tiny ray of hope in me, that she maybe was too
dumb to get down, that I had found an Achilles Heel. I rubbed my
leg and looked at her.
    Then she
dove down, falling, her toga rippling on the air, but impossibly
slow, as if a