Eleven

It’s a long walk down the road
Pitter - pattering of rain, glistening off of windows
There’s howling wind and shrieks
A nervous air to the chilled moonlit street

In a corner a figure stands
A woman, a man, something as quiet as a clam
A slippery slope, a dangerous gamble
To leave a warm home at eleven

Tightening your coat for some comfort
Dipping your head to blend in
A faster pace, an echoing of footsteps mocking footsteps
Why did you ever leave at eleven?

Turning some corners
Heels slipping on wet pavement
Shrieking louder, thunder crackling
It’s a quarter after eleven

There’s a hand reaching from the dark
A quick inhale, a quicker exhale
Moving faster, time slows down
No more pressure felt of eyes on back, breath on neck

A nervous glance back, a confused look, ears strained for sounds
A laugh escaping, breathe returns to normal
A hand grips your shoulder and you gasp, recognition hits you
It’s still eleven

“Com’on Miss. You know the doctor wants you to stay inside for your head.”
A kind looking nurse, a push back the way you came
A shiver goes up and down your spine
It’s no longer eleven.






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