Them

Making your way home on the eve of dawn,

your instincts begin to shake your spine and

quicken your breath in the freezing cold air.

There is a feeling in the wind that you can

feel with all your soul and it makes you want

to move faster, but your frozen limbs won’t

let you.  You look back and see two figures.

You think you may recognize them but you

can’t be entirely sure.  Just to be

safe, you hasten your steps and listen to

theirs accelerate.  Panic grasps you as

your breath creates a cloud of mist around

your head that you surge through without any

hesitation.  You stuff your glove-clad hands

into your pockets and dip your head down

so as to seem less vulnerable. You

hope they are not who you think they are,

but there is something inside of you that

knows that they are.  It is them.

Avoidance has betrayed you once again

and now they will approach you when you are

most vulnerable, when you feel unsafe,

when you are all by yourself.

You turn the corner and sure enough, they

follow you around the bend.  They seem to

be close enough that, if they so desire,

they could stretch out their exceedingly thick

arms, extend their long, sausage-like fingers,

and caress the skirt flowing out behind

you.  The idea sends another wave

of shudders through your being and you take

the last turn and you are assuredly

on your street, a few houses away from

your own abode, but the people behind

you sound closer than ever and their feet

slap the pavement at a run and fear drives

you to run, run, run as fast as you can.

But it also drives your mind to slow.

Everything is happening in slow-mo:

the dog barking in your neighbor’s window,

your breath coming even more rapidly,

your hat being grabbed and some hairs coming

loose.  This drives you to go faster and you pass

your house, not daring to look back at them.

No.  Not daring to look back at them at all.