Mischief Managed

The inevitable sweat pouring down my temples was the only witness of the emotion boiling up inside. I was rushing down the street on my way home from work and never felt this much urge to finally lock my front door behind me. Ever since I reached the small, never ending alley, I had a persecutor following every step of my way. I didn’t dare to look back, but could feel his piercing eyes burning into my back.  Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t let it get to you, is what I thought, trying to calm down the stormy beating of my heart. Why wouldn’t he stop? What did he want from me? There was nothing to give.

I striped away the lock of golden hair that had fallen into my face and had blocked the sight in front of me. My way home had never felt so stretched and I could feel the heaviness of my follower close behind me. There would have been no use in screaming because no one would care. Nobody would ever dare to help; and I wouldn’t resent such a behaviour. I probably wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty either.

The situation I was in is something you would only ever want you torturing you in your nightmares. I never knew how many seconds I had left until my hunter would strike and let me feel the pain and agony he was so desperately trying to make me feel. No matter where I would go, there was no way of escaping now. He was hooked to me, like an addict to his drugs. But was there really nothing I could do?

The last corner before my street was only a few steps away and I couldn’t take it any longer. I took one last, deep breath and swirled around. There he was, my chaser. We were now eye to eye. I prepared my hands to strike. You bloody thing, were the last words I said before I squashed the mosquito with my flesh.