I am as vulnerable as I could be at this moment. Deep voids of blackness cast shadows of uncertainty onto the streets of my hometown, as I walk home from a late closing shift at the diner. The seldom warm, yellow streetlights bring the only comfort a woman such as I get on the solitary trek. I have made the trip what seems like a thousand times, so why does the pit in my stomach persist? The cool autumn air rattles what is left of leaves on trees. The hairs on the back of my neck stand alert. Someone is watching me. I hear heavy footsteps behind me on the damp pavement, but when I turn, there is just darkness. “I am fine.” I softly whisper to myself. My mind makes the shadows of the night shapeshift into the boogeymen of my childhood. I hate the darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to erase the figures from my head, but when I opened my eyes, the figures remained. Glowing yellow orbs of eyes stare back at me, as I tell myself it is my imagination. I see a streetlight- a glowing haven of warmth and familiarity, and most importantly, it is not the darkness. I ran toward the solitary light, the chill of the air burning my face. The footsteps around me grow louder and faster. “If I could just make It to the light, everything would be okay.” I think to myself as tears stream down my face. Suddenly, the light flickers off. I stop dead in my tracks. Engulfed by darkness, I stand alone. The footsteps’ sound drowns out any thoughts I may have. The pounding of them stops and I feel a cold boney hand covering my mouth. And then I was nothing.
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