Kenny who wasted his stamina
It was a late September evening when Kenny Riedell found himself back at the Crystal Lake camp, surrounded by an eerie silence. The air felt cold and damp, as if the forest itself was breathing down his neck. This was his third time at the camp, and even though he knew the dangers, something inside him drew him back time and time again.
He took a deep breath. The tension condensed in his chest. Kenny wasn't the bravest guy, but his determination to survive was strong. Then, suddenly, there was a crackling sound on the radio.
"Jason is here. He's killing us one by one. Be careful."
Cold shivers ran down Kenny's spine, and he felt adrenaline shoot through his veins like a knife edge. He knew what lay ahead. Jason Voorhees, the masked killer, would spare no one. This was no joke.
Kenny felt his heart begin to pound, and he quickly glanced around. He was alone. The other campers had dispersed, and the only sounds in the distance were the hum of the wind and the occasional rabble of a hare in the undergrowth. He took a step forward, then another, walking silently in the darkness. He had learned from his mistakes – this time he wasn't going to run around aimlessly and waste his energy.
Or had he learned? He heard footsteps behind him, heavy and leisurely, all too familiar to those who had ever run from Jason. Kenny glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a motionless figure standing only a few feet away. Jason.
Kenny didn't have time to think. Instinctively, he broke into a run, his legs leaping faster than he had thought they could. Every step felt like hitting the ground like a hammer blow, but panic drove him forward. However, he knew deep down that he couldn't keep running forever. And just as his legs were starting to feel heavy, he tripped. Kenny fell, crumpled to the ground, and felt pain shoot through his back.
"Keep calm!" he mumbled breathlessly to himself, trying to keep the panic from rising in his throat. He stood up and glanced around. Jason was out of sight, but his heart was still beating like a warning bell. He knew the murderer was not far away.
He decided to run towards the old barn, where he remembered one of the campers had gone to look for weapons. Kenny took off running again, hoping to find help or at least a place to hide.
But then it happened. His legs slowed, his breathing became heavier. He had run out of stamina.
"No, not now!" Kenny thought in horror, but his body wouldn't obey. He had run too long, too fast. The legs felt like lead and the lungs burned. He tried to blink over his shoulder but couldn't see anyone – it didn't make him any safer.
As he lumbered forward slowly as if in a dream, there was a rustling of leaves behind him. Jason approached. Kenny knew that. Every nerve fiber in his body told him he was coming. He tried to force himself to run once more, but his legs would no longer obey.
Cold steel touched his shoulder and Kenny turned slowly. There he stood—Jason, mask glistening in the night, bloody machete in hand. He raised his weapon and Kenny felt time stop.
"I could have escaped", Kenny thought. "If I hadn't wasted my stamina…"
But it was too late.
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