Your Being...

May 28, 2008
By Tanassa Clark, Edgeley, ND

For weeks you have felt like someone has been following you. Wherever you go you feel this sense of someone always watching you. Paranoia has overwhelmed you. Are you simply imagining things? You rush into a dark freezing cold, moist, mildew room. You do not know who, but someone is chasing you. While he grabs you and attempts to throw you in his black car, you catch a glimpse of him. He is wearing all black: a black mask, black long sleeved shirt, long black pants, black shoes, and black gloves. Your heart beats so fast that you swear that it is going to pop right out of your chest. What a creep! What did you do to make him try to kidnap you? Heart beating faster, running harder, and another room, darker, warmer, your purse… where is your purse? Did he take it in the struggle? Did you drop it while running? Is he still behind you? Does he know who you are? Where are you?

That day you were walking down the street minding your own business. Suddenly, from nowhere someone grabbed you from behind. You freaked out, and started struggling, kicking and screaming, using your nails, and biting this imposter. After you kicked him in the stomach he finally lets you go. You scampered off into the nearest building.

Now, the door slams with a bang, but you are not closing the door. You freeze. Hear someone breathing, and pants swishing together. Is this the person who was following you? Had he found you? Opening door after door, running faster and faster, boom, bang, you are not slamming the doors; you’re not even closing the doors. He knows you are in the building. You open yet another squeaky door. You think, “When will this building ever stop?” You know he can hear you opening the squeaky doors, and the deep wheezing of your breathing. You have to keep running. If you stop he will catch you. He will lunge you into his black car. Your breathing is getting harder; your lungs feel like they are collapsing.

Out of breath, you finally see the glorious light of day. Racing to the nearby alley, remembering that he is still behind you, you fear for your life. You are at the other side of the alley, surrounded by buildings, and town houses. Is that your house? Confusion. Should you go up to your house, or should you go to your neighbor’s house? Deciding finally to go to your neighbor’s house to call the police, you hope that he does not see you.
Does he know where you live? Did he see where you went? You sprint to the house out of breath and scared out of your mind, knocking anxiously on the door. Your friend creeps to the door; the 30 seconds feel more like 20 minutes before she arrives at the door. She opens the door and you rush in without giving her time to say anything. Stunned, looking at you, she asks, “What’s wrong?” Then you tell her the whole story, after asking for a glass of water. She suddenly leaps out of her chair and lunges for the nearby baseball bat.
“What’s the bat for?”, you ask concernedly.
“To beat the tar out of him if he even opens that door.”

Suddenly, the door bangs open. She swings, to hear her husband yelling, “What are you doing, I live here don’t I?” He cautiously walks into the house, hoping not to be swung at again by his wife. Demanding answers on why the bat was being swung at him, hearing sirens in the driveway, more questions started shooting out of his mouth like a gun.
The police go by the description of the person that you portray, and go out to where you were chased. Lying flat on his back right by the last door that you had used lays your interloper.
For weeks you felt like someone was following you. Wherever you would go you felt this sense of someone always watching you. Paranoia overwhelmed you. Were you simply imagining things? No.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book