Home run

McFarlane jumped the ditch, scrabbling up the steep bank, clutching at sodden grass and weeds.  A fence topped with barbed wire skirted the crest.  He clambered over, snagging his filthy jeans, then set off at a canter across a broad field towards a gateway and the road beyond.  Headlights danced along the hedgerow.  He dropped to the sticky soil, heart thumping like a bass drum.  The car disappeared, fading to a low hum, then silence.  He savoured the moment, then rose and set off again, trotting through the crop.  He’d made it.  Freedom.

Behind him a siren started to wail.  




A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words