There wasn't really much to contemplate

There wasn't really much to contemplate: only two ways for her to go. She could still kick off her shoes and make a run for it down the alley, in the hope that she'll find a place to hide in or maybe a passageway to take her away. But to

commit herself to this would mean placing her fate firmly into the hands of chance and therefore gambling with her life, which was something that she was reluctant to do, her only alternative was to go back into the street, to break from the shadows before the killer had a chance to corner her, and than keep on running until she was safe, if she was fast enough out of the blocks, and the man was slow to react then she would have bought herself a valuable advantage. Her only concern was that she didn't really know how far or fast she'd be able to run before her body actively began to give up on her. She wasn't in the best of shape, so time was quickly running out, along with her options, the longer she remained static, the more trapped she became. It would only be a matter of time before the killer found her standing here, crying and helpless. She needed to pull herself together and push the horror of the situation to the back of her mind; to think of a way out before it was too late. Hiding would only prolong the inevitable. If the wanted to survive, then she needed to act fast, weigh her options, make a decision, come up with a plan and follow if through. She looked around her, desperately searching for inspiration, but the sheer walls of the alleyway yielded nothing. 

She'd have to hope that he wasn't either, and rely on her pure, animalistic strive for survival to keep her going.

Silently, she slipped her feet, one by one, out of her high- heeled shoes and steadied herself. She thought about taking a look around the corner, to check out the killer's position, but decided against it. She was going to make a run for it regardless; that's already been decided, so the man's location on the street was irrelevant. She that he hadn't passed the opening of the alleyway and that was all the information that her brain required right now. Time seemed to stand still as she took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the rush of adrenaline that was about to fill her body. She closed her eyes and counted to three. One two. Three. It was time to go … like a greyhound, the woman belted out of the alleyway, pumping her legs as hard and as fast as she possibly could; straight into the road and arching her course to the right, until she was running down the center of the street. The heavily cracked tarmac felt hard and rough under her bare feet, and every tiny pebble or shred of broken glass sent a shot of pain up her legs, but she tried to ignore these slight inconveniences to concentrate on shifting her pace up a gear. She felt clumsy, clutching her handbag under her right arm as her skirt flapped behind her, certain that she could and should be running faster than this. The end of the street wasn't too far away, and she began to veer to the left, setting her sight on the upcoming corner. With the air whistling past her ears she couldn't hear if the man was chasing her, or even if he was still in the street at all. She wanted to look back, but she dared not stop or slow down to do so, so she just kept on going, sprinting. Already her chest was tightening and her thighs were starting to burn, and her throat felt dry and coarse as she took in gulping, gasping breaths through her mouth. How long could she maintain this kind of pace; a woman of her age end in her condition? 

As she approached the crossroads, she headed more to the left, finally daring to glance over her shoulder before she disappeared around the corner and saw nothing but on empty street behind her. As she instinctively slowed down, her mind began to race trying to figure out where the killer might be. Has he really or was he waiting to cut her off somewhere should she keep on running or should she stops should this be fresh cause for panic or concern, or should she ignore the fact altogether, face forward and keep on going? 

Oblivious in thought, the woman didn't see the headlights of the oncoming car that hurtled down the road. But she definitely felt the force as it ploughed straight through her, hitting her hard. As the horn blasted out, too late to make a difference, her face smashed against the car's front; cold and unforgiving, spilling her blood and teeth all over. Numb; dazed; empty; disconnected. The impact killed her instantly, kindly saving her from her alternative fate. 

The moonless sky was almost too black and too pure. Darkness bathed the woman's face. She was … blessed.