She Thought She Was Alone

The shadows of the old colonial homes followed her every movement. They laughed at her hurried steps. Silhouettes stood in the dimly lit windows, motionless. They just watched her timid presence inch its way forward. She could feel their eyes burning straight through her very being. She could hear the faint melody of screaming sirens singing with the night.

She looked down and saw her hands trembling, but she wasn�t cold. Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip and began to fall down her face. Suddenly, she heard a noise. She looked up and squinted against the merciless night but saw nothing. The air became deadly silent. The only sound was her own heart beating violently against her shivering skin. She began walking again but the sound became louder. They were the footsteps of another person. She spun around and saw a single figure standing just outside the light given off by the hanging street lamp.

�Who�s there,� she barely squeaked out.

�I said who�s there? Listen, I have a gun and I really don�t want any trouble. So please, leave me alone.�

There was no reply as the figure menacingly approached her. Each sinister step shot fear up her spine. His tall skinny body stepped into the light. She stumbled back with fear and plain disgust. His hair was long and matted. The greasy brown locks shimmered in the pale light. His eyes were cold and lifeless. His worn, ragged face had an unkempt goatee and a crooked nose. His lips curled up in an evil smile, which revealed what was left of his rotting yellow teeth. As he walked towards her, his loud raspy voice fell dead in the streets. �Don�t be afraid my doll. Don�t be afraid. I won�t hurt you; I just want to see you up close. You seem to be so pretty, my little doll.�

She turned and started sprinting away. Piece by piece her hair fell from her ponytail and stuck to the sweat that now ran fervently down her face. Her desperation was echoed in her shallow breathing. But her white Keds kept slipping in the puddles that had formed in the middle of the street. She could feel his hot rank breath on her neck and she knew that time was falling away. Her foot caught the edge of a rock and she collided with the unforgiving ground.

Without a hesitation the man pounced upon his fallen prey. He pulled out his gun and pressed it against her heaving breast. He wrenched away her purse and tossed it aside. He ran his gun along the contours of her feminine physique.

�Please don�t hurt me,� she pleaded through hopeless sobs.

�If you cooperate, you won�t get hurt.�

�What, please what, do you want from me?�

�I think you already know. Don�t make this any worse than it has to be.�

As he started tearing away her clothes she screamed and struggled with her fleeting power to get him off. Hopelessness came over her as her energy left her wrenching body. It was too late though. He penetrated her body and shattered a piece of her soul. Each heaving thrust sent tears of pain and hatred down her once joyous face.

Why wouldn�t anyone from the windows help her? She lay powerless upon the lawn of one of those rich, old colonial home and yet no one would help her. The world, her city, her neighborhood had all turned their backs to her desperate cries for help.

�Please, anyone, stop this! Help me please!� She cried out, but no one came.

When he finished, he got off of her and smiled. He tossed her the remainder of her tattered clothes and cordially thanked her for her services. He then casually turned and walked away. Immediately, she bound for her purse, grabbed the gun and pulled back the hammer. As it clicked into place he spun around. He thought she was bluffing when she told him of her gun earlier. Fear now drained his face pail.

Their eyes locked and suddenly the hunted had become the hunter. Hatred motivated this timeless stare down. A dance with death was the theme and vengeance was the band playing. One last look before death becomes your partner for eternity. Then, as if on queue, they simultaneously pulled their triggers.

Her eyes shot open and she sat up in bed. Sweat dripped from her face to the disheveled sheets. As she calmed her breathing down she said to herself, �Thank you Lord. It was just a dream, thank you.� She looked down at the alarm clock that sat on her nightstand. It read �5:32 am� and lying beside it was her gun. She felt her heart begin to race wildly again. Hesitantly she picked up the ominous symbol of death.

Her screams were muffled by the penetrating sound of the gun hitting the floor. She covered her face with her dirty hands and cried aloud. There, in the dim light of the moon, lay her gun�one chamber sat empty.