Friday, February 12, 2010

In the Dark

The world is sometimes a very big, scary place. I’ve thought this before, mostly in those times where nothing, no matter how well planned or timed, seems to go right, but that is the kind of fear is different, the controlled kind of panic you feel before a big, unstudied-for exam, or a sudden firing. This kind of fear is entirely different.

The streets are empty at this time of night, and the trees sway and seem to talk and in some kind of Narnia-esque nightmare, they bend over me, running their fingers through my hair and grasping at my clothes. The dimly lit road stretches away before me, and the cold permeates my clothes, my skin, my very breath as it rises away from me in clouds of steam. Back there, in the light and the noise I had felt so brave. No, I had said, I’ll just get a cab, you stay there, I’ll see you tomorrow. I didn’t feel brave now. A little way out of town a taxi had stopped beside me, but I waved him on. The night had been too beautiful for meaningless chitchat with a bored shift worker and my shoeless feet had led me down along the highways, listening to the cars whine, with only the occasional shout or whistle from a carful of passing strangers. High heels dangling from my hand I had felt light as air and beautiful, like the night, not caring as the asphalt cut my feet to leave them smudging blood along the pavement.

I never knew before that wind could truly whisper. It whispered now in my ears, nasty secrets in the cold murmurs of a man who sneaks up behind you in the dark. And here I am, indeed, in the dark and alone, but for the feeling hands of the branches. It is too much, I think, and run.


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