She struck midnight

The clock struck midnight

and she ran.

and ran

and ran

and ran.

The wind smacking her in the face

making her thin,

transluscent dress flow behind her.

"The blood's not mine,

the blood's not mine"

she screamed into the dark of the night.

No one could hear, the thick fog around her seeming to muffle her words

muffle her thoughts

muffle her existence.

She kept running,

never planning on stopping.

The blood on her dress,

on her hands.

not hers