I like to hear them scream.
In the dead of night, down unlit streets, they don't often hear me coming. Up. Behind them. Loud steps on cold concrete, their high heels clicking away hide my own. And I am silent, often mistaken for the night air around them. Perhaps they turn, ever so slightly, for they saw that shadow, that quiver of a leaf, a step when they didn't. But they don't see me.
They don't want to see. They hear the stories and they never believe that it can happen to them. But I know. I know better than they, and I know that tonight, tonight it will be their turn. Yes, their turn. For everyone has a turn. Sometime, in everybody's life, it will be their turn. Their turn to feel their heart, beating, louder and louder. So hard as to ask "can they hear that, can anyone else hear what i'm
feeling? right now?"
coming up behind me, i don't know why i. there it is again. i know he's back there. he's been back there ever since i heard the story, and now he's behind me, and he's coming closer. i can't hear him, i turn and i can't see him, i can't even smell him. but he's there and if i run he'll have me right where
There is a precise time. Each one will come at the exact right moment. It is a moment that has planned out and it is a moment which I will not and can not deviate from. The moment when the light at the end of the street goes from being just a beacon to being a sanctuary. In that moment, when the trees rustle just a little bit less, when the street gets a little bit darker. That is the moment that they realize that it is their turn. That I am there, that they can not get away.
It is that moment, that they scream.