Sweat poured down her back, beaded on her upper lip, and pooled between her breasts. She risked a backwards glance:
It was coming closer.
She hitched up her bag and began to run. It was getting hard to breathe.
She was almost there…
She sagged as the bus passed her.
Above is my submission for the current Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty.
Blame it on Sheena. I do.
EDIT TO ADD: Do go read Sheena’s entry. (I can’t believe I neglected to mention this before…) It is so. good. Really. (You might not know this, but I almost never use bold.)