Skinned Alive

I am both enticed and terrified of the scent of the hunter. It lingers in the vast oblivion I lost myself in when you began your chase. I cannot walk a mere seven feet without your scent gracing me. It catches in the back of my throat, sweetly tickling my senses (I long for the days where you were not the predator and I was not your prey) But my heart starts to race as your scent turns foul and bile forces up my raw throat. My body quakes as my hunter draws near, circling me, that malevolent grin stuck on his twisted face. (I know what will come next)

My skin hangs on his wall, my expressionless eyes staring ahead. His ultimate trophy: The only one who got away in the first place.