Hey everyone. This is my first piece for submission and was written about a year ago at some ungodly hour, so it is likely to be not very good. Nevertheless, here you go:
Closure
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” She waved at her friends who departed back into the bar. She walked away into the street. Tonight had been a good night. She should do this more often. Ever since the attack a few weeks ago, she hadn’t spent as much time with her friends as she had prior to the attack. The doctors had said she should try to return to her schedule. It would end, and she would be able to get on with her life, gain at least some semblance of closure.
She continued past the taxi station. Should she get a taxi home? It would be easier, and quicker…and more expensive, and again avoiding a return to how things were before the attack. She walked on by, confident, resolute and determined. She was going to walk, and she wasn’t going to let that man ruin her life.
She left the street in which the taxi station lay, only a mile from her home. Such a waste of money getting a cab for a mile! She was the only one on the road now. Wait. A man. She carried on walking, her heart beginning to quicken. 1420 metres, 1419 metres, 1418 metres. That’s OK; he just put out the bins for the bin men tomorrow.
“Stop it, you’re being foolish. You are fine; no-one is going to get you again.” She repeated the mantra to herself a little. It gave her comfort, something she could desperately do with.
She continued onward, onto the main road, feeling somewhat reassured that she wasn’t on a confined little road. She had never like small spaces, not at all. Not since the –
“Stop. You’re making you’re being foolish. It’s not going to happen again, you’re making yourself nervous just for the adrenaline rush.”
She took the path that turned away from the main path. 900 metres, 899 metres, 898 metres. She took the shortcut through the park. It was a nice view, and was allegedly a spot where fireflies would gather, attracted to the tree’s sticky sap. It sounded like further invitation to enter the park.
She walked through the park slowly, more uneasily now that there were gates and walls – her partial claustrophobia was something that un-nerved her every day, how simple things now worried her which shouldn’t. She saw an old man on a bench, most likely a poor homeless man. She crunched the ice in triple meter, a little oddity she’s inherited from her father, a military general of the old school. She liked to think of herself as a dancer in the waltz of life. A silly notion perhaps, but it was what made her comfortable.
The jagged two stepping was at first quiet but grew progressively louder and it jarred with her graceful footfalls. With every off tempo step the air become filled with menace. Her heart began to race; she restrained herself for a few seconds and then sprinted over the playing fields, running with all limbs flailing in an ungainly dance away from death. She tripped on her shoelace and fell to the ground, waiting for the heavy breathing.
After a few moments of silence, she opened her eyes, and saw that the homeless man hadn’t left his bench. She stifled a cry. She had said to herself it wouldn’t get the better of her, and now look at her. Sprawled on the ground, jumping at imaginary noises, covered in mud. She lay there for a few minutes, just silently contemplating what next to do. She would walk the rest of the way home. If she could do that, this incident would be an anomaly. A blip. Meaningless.
She stepped out of the park, with only 300 metres now left to the house. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she carried on forward past the gates.
He had watched her, these last few weeks, studied her routes after nights out with friends, and now lay in wait for the chance to finish what had been interrupted. She stepped past the gates, and walked away. He silently followed.
She carried on forward, holding her bag close to her, an extra layer of armour against any that would attempt to harm her. She walked forward, head up, her body language defiant, her spirit the very antithesis of this. 200 metres, 199 metres, 198 metres.
He had waited long for this, and he was going to relish the chase whilst he had a chance to. A giddy sense of anticipation coursed through his body, and he couldn’t resist a small skip of joy. His shoe scuffed the floor. He silently cursed.
She stopped. Had she heard a noise, or that just been some phantasm of her mind? The terror that had greeted her in the park had seemed real enough, and that had been her imagination playing tricks on her. She continued walking. She was so close, that was the only sensible thing to do. Don’t think about it, you’ll be fine; it’s not going to happen again. She smiled to herself, “I’ve trained myself.” 135 metres, 134 metres, 133 metres.
He silently thanked her poor hearing. He mustn’t do that again, one more slip like that and the chase would be over. He walked a bit closer, now within five metres of the woman. He could smell her from here.
She didn’t know what it was, but she began to feel a terrible sense of dread. There was something in the air that scared her out of her wits. She could always look around, but that’d be admitting to herself that this was affecting her too badly. She didn’t want this to affect her; she wanted this to be over! She carried on, head held high, ready to face anything that might come to her. 55 metres, 54 metres, 53 metres.
He would have to act quickly. The house he had often staked out was in front of them both, and at some point, she would be lost to him. He wanted it to happen in the street, so that his handiwork could be seen by all. Across the newspapers, TV cameras... He advanced, 5 metres away, 4.5 metres away, 4 metres away.
She definitely felt something was wrong now. She knew to trust in her instincts and this sign was heaven sent. She had heard breath; she knew there was someone near by. This wasn’t just paranoia, this was as real as her, as the road as this horrible situation. She clutched her bag to her tighter, and within a swimming pool’s length of her home turned around.
The look on her face had been worth the trip, she was absolutely petrified. He would enjoy doing this. He advanced like a tank, grinning with the thought of what was going to happen. His grin turned to dismay. The last thing he saw was his expression mirrored on her face as he felt a cataclysmic explosion in his chest.
She dropped her father’s pistol and sagged to the ground. As neighbours woke up and called the emergency services, she lay down in the middle of the street and went to sleep, utterly exhausted. Closure can be a hard thing to earn.
Hope you enjoyed it
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