White Mist

I walk among the children
Some young and some old
Like the oak tree in my
Grandfather’s house.

The wind ruffles the leaves.
It is a foggy fall night.
Im not alone.
At least I tell myself I’m not.

A shrill from a ponytailed child
Sends shivers up my arm.
I walk a little faster
Too afraid to stay
Too long in the dark.

My purse vibrates,
I ignore it for
I have heard the footsteps.

I begin to run quickly out of breath,
The wind wiping my hair
And beating my face.

The alley around the corner 
Is my only escape. 
I turn right and bend
Behind the trashcans 
To hide my head.

Puffing i look around.
No one.
I feel my heart beat slow 
Too slowly before the door is thrown

I see the glint of steel in the man’s hand
And the blood drains
As if the blade had been thrown to my heart

The last fight has begun.


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