True Fear

Time lumbers on at a melancholy pace. Neither in a hurry to pass or in neccessity to linger. The fog envelopes the ground like a blanket. It seems impenetrable but the dark movements inside make it seem alive. The brillant yellow of the leaves is in stark contrast with the liquid black of the grass beneath. The dark, shadowy figures of the trees sway to and fro in the perpetual breeze that whispers against the nape of the neck. The street looks as if it's a still, dark pond; shimmering with moisture that is just barely visible below the blanket of fog.

The hairs are raised, unsure if it's the crisp air that fills the nostrils or the surreal quality of the surroundings. Fingers feel as if a thousand needles have penetrated every exposed surface. Face feels tight with the icy breeze and breath comes in short, fast puffs. Tongue listlessly moves across the cold and parched lips. Eyes dart to and fro, trying to capture everything in an instant. What was that? Was that there before? Hello?

Fear threatens to paralyze but like a creature evading a lion, movement is the key to survival. Brain and legs briefly battle but the legs are victorious and they begin to move. Feet move through the leaves, rustling and clinging with a wetness that feels like a second skin. Twigs snap and legs halt, becoming rubbery and simultaneously as heavy as concrete. What was that?

The breath is quickened and the hearing intensified. Eyes dart like the eyes of a frightened bird. Mustn't run, that'll ensure a chase. BREATHE! Hands are clenched and the shoulders become set. Must continue.

Feet and legs begin to move in unison but as each step is conquered, the trepidation gets stronger and stronger. Leaves shuffle and small twigs snap not that far behind. The fog moves as if it were coming to a steady boil. Heart begins to pound and the sound is deafening in the ears. Mouth has become unbearably dry and the face becomes flushed with fear. Cold hands have become sweaty and breath is a fleeting thought. Legs move swifter with more purpose and still the trepidation grows. RUN! HAVE TO RUN!

Running' feet kicking the leaves up in tuffs; desperately seeking ground, slipping on the wet, glossiness of the leaves. Hair flying behind in stringy tendrils as if trying to run away from the tortured spirit. The darkness thickens and the flight becomes frantic. Breath is released in spastic bursts and legs burn with exertion and adrenaline. Lungs are on fire from the biting, cold air and the face is covered in tears.

Time slows as the hand grabs from behind and clenches onto the face. Eyes become large and protruding and the voice is stiffled in a instant by a cruel twist of the hand. Momentum is stopped abruptly and breath is battered out as the back hits the ground. Paralyzed with fear, the eyes can only stare and the voice can only whine behind tight fingers as the shadow takes over and envelopes her in its nightmare.

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