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by mrs. johnson 05/11/2003, 4:55pm PDT |
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Sorry, but it is completely unedited. Probably heavy on the grammatical mistakes. Any comments welcome.
I heard a noise behind me but I ignored it. I do things like that. Yesterday I avoided a car accident by a couple of inches and a few grams of luck. I made sure to put it out of my mind as quickly as possible. It’s probably something that the psychiatrists would call an unhealthy way of dealing with problems, but it works alright. I hear that noise behind me again. I smile. Childish thoughts of vague horrors run through my head at breakneck speed. I try to shrug it off. What am I doing out here at 4 o’clock in the morning? Why am I wondering the city streets at a time when only the homeless, the insane and the young are out? It doesn’t matter. I am walking down a narrow street that is populated by closed and locked shops with only the changing colors of the street light to keep my company. I listen with more intent at the noises that I keep hearing. Footsteps. I stop and the noises stop. My paranoia tells me that I’m being followed. My reason asks why would anybody follow me? The paranoia replies with a barrage of possibilities, but carefully avoids the supernatural. It’s funny. All throughout my childhood the thought of vampires, goblins, demons, werewolves and other nameless monsters wouldn’t upset me. Something about them wasn’t convincing enough to make them real to me. Now the footsteps behind me bring back the possibility of the unreal. Every logical fiber in my brain is yelling at my imagination with fervor about the impossibility of the supernatural. A smile slowly creeps unto my face and I refuse to turn around. The possibility that something behind me could be greater than the possible is leaving me unable to look behind me. I cannot for if I see nothing or a homicidal maniac, then my dreams shall be dashed. I walk dreaming of Count Dracula, with his cape spread out for all to fear and his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his broad, smooth forehead. I would be alright with dying here, I think. As long as I die with the possibility of something beyond on my mind. In the distance, I see my apartment building, looking weak and brutal on the corner. Exposed bricks look like unhealed wounds, only compounded by time. The few stars that the lights of city allow me to see are dim and useless. I vow that if I ever make it home, I’ll leave this place and go live somewhere where I can see the stars. I’m quitting tomorrow, I say to myself. I pick up the pace and the footsteps behind me do so as well. My apartment building is only a few dozen feet away and I begin to run. I reach my door and insert my key, fumbling. My heart is beating with a brisk pace and I can feel every single beat in my very toes. My breath is short and ragged, and the footsteps behind me continue to advance. I finally open the door and run in, closing it behind me. Silence ambushes me from the grim bowels of the building. A light bulb flickers behind me as I wait for the elevator. I swear again that I shall quit tomorrow and move out of this godforsaken place, as far as I can.
the mrs. |
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