Footsteps follow me along the dark street. Their steady clicking matches my own stilettos. I look around; barely moving my head. Shadows seem to cover everything, making everywhere a nook to crouch in. My mind struggles against a tide of fears and thoughts. Drowns in them.
����������� are they speeding up how long have they been there what do I do
Moments of held breath crawl by as I strain to hear without distraction. This only brings my heartbeat to the fore. The two-beat rhythm drumming in my ears is deafening.
From far in the past I hear my mother�s voice.
�����������
She�s been dead a long time, my mother. She died when I was seventeen but she was gone long before that. I am only left with memories. One afternoon, when I was eight or so, I went into the kitchen. She was sitting at the old wooden table, dented and scratched, under a cloud of medicinal smelling liquor. As I passed, her scrawny arm reached out and bony fingers shackled my wrist. Her face froze me. The hair that framed it was wild and unwilling. Her cheeks were sharp, but it was her eyes that scared me the most. Circled in darkness, when I gazed into them, I saw no glimmer of life.
����������� �They are all vicious,� she hissed.
����������� My mother said more that day, but it is those words that stuck with me.
�
They are all vicious. They are all vicious. A mantra that affected my entire life. �I heard it inside as a young teen, in the park coyly practising my flirting with boys. When I grew a little and went to my leaving prom, as my date walked me home, it streamed through my head. After I left for university and started staying out until early morning, it was in the backseat of the taxi home with me. They are all vicious. Always and still those words follow me. They are my mother�s spirit, both protecting and haunting. How could I blame her?
�
I catch his scent on the breeze; a musky aftershave that lingers high in the nose. He must be closer now. I want to cough but hold it in and feel the scratch at my throat. �Up ahead a streetlight stands like a beacon. A dome of orange light fighting against the shadows. I see it with those words running riot in my head.
����������� they are all vicious they are all vicious they are all����� ��enough
When I reach the light I stop; pretend to check the scratched up watch my mother left me. The footsteps draw closer. I look up and see his face come together out of the shadows. I look him in the eye, defiant, brave. He offers a near imperceptible nod and smiles. It is a warm smile full of friendly teeth. The smile of someone without a worry in the world. Of someone who has never had to hear the words, they are all vicious.
- Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash
- This is my own work and has not been generated in whole or in part by AI
That last line is melancholically beautiful! Great piece!
this was completely entrancing! Very nicely done. It drew me in from the beginning.