Just a few more inches.

The air in the cellar was thick with moisture; the heavy, dusty sensation made every inch of her body repluse against itself in disgust. Old boxes formed a sepulchre of shadow around her, heights varying to allow grimy, yellow light to cut through the grotesque darkness. Her heart never slowed down, not once. Every ounce of strength she ever had gathered itself within her scarred limbs and pulsated anxiously, dancing up and down her body until she hummed with the primal, pure, red fever for blood. She pressed herself as flat as she could against the dirty ground, her ears listening for the tiniest shuffle, the smallest expansion of lungs that were not her own. Hypersensitive skin made her back twitch as layer upon layer of ash floated down from the burning house above, sticking sickly to her like glue and mutating her into the filth around her.

There.

To the right, a yard away. Its there. A hulking figure appeared in the gloom, hair run ragged with motor oil and grease and sweat. Steps were slow, methodical and systematic in their search for her. Her entire body tensed up, every muscle primed to strike at a moments notice. This was the moment she waited for. Every thought in her mind shouted in tongues she didn't understand, yet knew all along. They called to her, begged her, prodded her, pushed her forward and gave her the courage to kill.

Quiet now.

Everything was still. Time hung in the air, seconds transforming into cruelly long extensions of time until deformed beyond recognition. Slow breaths. Everything calm. The calm before the storm. Just a few inches. The shuffle came closer. One sick step at a time, closer and closer. Her body screamed at herself, roaring for violence and amnesic to all humanity that once possessed her. She was someone else now. Necessity had forced her to devolve, made her crawl instead of walk. Rationale shifted from reason to teeth, to nails, to hands that could crush.

Just a few more inches.