Another 'you'

Pat, pat pat. You can tell he’s following you but don’t look back. (Never look back.) You speed up but so does he, making his feet do double time: pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat. The crowd looses him, if only for a moment and you steal your way home. But you know he’ll find you in the end, all he has to do is follow the trail of fear and there you’ll be.

You hate the cops but call them anyway. “Hello, what is your emergency-”

Bolt the door. Close the blinds. Panic.

I crawled to the floor of my parent’s room and wait. The sweat and heat from my body mingle with the floor making it the floor of an oven rather than a room. Pat, pat, pat, pat. Just a shadow, a shape blocking the sun, but you know. They say you always know.