The sleet stings your skin as you fumble with your umbrella. What were you thinking coming out here unprotected? The street lamps flicker, causing shadows to dance around the edges of your vision. They are just shadows right? Large droplets slap your face as the world sobs and begs you to take back what has been done. It’s the only thing that knows you are to blame. Only the world and the creaking.
In frustration, you shove your stubborn umbrella under your arm and attempt to barrow deeper inside your coat. It’s finally over. You can’t seem too accept that yet. All that time, all the sacrifice, all that drive and now you’re here, alone on a beat up road, soaked to the bone. Shouldn’t it be grander? It seems unfair that after all of that effort there is nothing waiting for you. No congratulations, no credit, no hate even. Now that things are set in motion it will leave you behind in history. How many people will try to take credit for what you’ve done? Anonymity was always a part of the plan after all.
The shadows are beginning to press uncomfortably closer. You walk faster, too nervous to attempt to look inconspicuous. Another lamp flickers out, allowing the shadows flood in even closer. Now you’re running. The splash of your frantic foot falls echos down the street. Your pulse thunders in your ears and throat. Your stomach clenches harder with each beat. Surely the world could hear it too? The rain, your short breath, your pounding feet, and your pulse blend together, creating the music of terror. Terror and silence.
creak
You go ridged. It was back. The creaking. Hadn’t you out run it a month ago? You swore you had left it behind, but here it was again! Springing back into action, you scramble forward only to trip over your own shaking legs. Chin meets cobblestones, shock meets teeth, and blood dances in the rain puddles. You squeeze your eyes shut against the pain as the creaking gets closer. But then it stops.
Hesitantly, you look up towards the last beam of light left on the street. There I am, lounging in my little red wheel chair, humming, wearing pajamas, sipping Pedialyte from a wine glass. I grimace at the flavor and raise my glass to you.
You slip into unconsciousness
