At 3am the world renders itself as a
Shadow
. With no clear edges
. Molasses that slows steps
. Muffles any
. Sound
. Makes it
. Hard to
. Place
. Your footsteps seem distant
Trailing you
. As though somewhere not far back
You were being followed.
. So you speed up
. Maybe you take a headphone out
. Maybe that will settle your nerves
. Maybe for a while it does
. But
Warm breath on the back of your neck
Whips your head around
The mist swirls and you see
. Nothing
. Shake it off
. You say but your steps lengthen
.
You hear it again
Clicking steps
Fasterfasterfaster
. Matching your own
Never far behind
You spin and stop
Silence
Secrets in the mist that the
. Weak lamps fail to light
. Nearly home
. You can see your house in the distance
. A hazy shape
But its
Breathing in your ear
Can almost feels its arms
Grabbing your bag
Dragging you away from
. Safety
. Fumble for keys
. Go faster
Its on the path behind you
. You open the door
Running now
. Slam it shut
Breathe.
The mist strokes the glass, begging to be let in.
patrickpinkwriting 