running

I'm being hounded, chased by a dog that I never quite catch a glimpse of but I can hear him crashing along behind me, feel his breath and his slaver coming hot and fast on my heels. I am small. The grass is as tall as I am, and taller in some places. I push through, but it is slow going and I'm sure I will feel those jaws close about my shoulders at any moment -- but suddenly I am out, on a steep bank that slopes down to still and silent waters. I leap, but the stepping stones have been strewn always just a little too far apart. My foot slips almost every time, and my right shoe is soaked. I am tired, each step less sure than the last until I stop, stranded and alone in the midst of a vast, motionless body of water that stretches as far as I can see in every direction. In focusing on where to put my feet, I lost sight of where I was trying to get to, and that far bank that seemed attainable when I started out is gone. I have no idea which way to turn.

I can't help but feel that whoever designed this path, whoever laid these stones, either dislikes me immensely, and wishes me to fail, or does not understand how small I am, how hindered by pain and by fear, and does not realize that I can never make it this way on my own.