I am sitting in total darkness.
I am trying not to breathe too loud.
I’m surrounded by silhouettes.
My eyes are adapting to the dark.
He’s out there.
All that stands between us is a line of doors.
I’ve locked them all. It doesn’t feel like enough.
If I move, he’ll hear me. He’ll know.
I stay perfectly still —
His fist on the first door.
I take a breath. Quiet, now.
Be silent. No movement — he’ll see.
He knows I’m in here.
He’s coming —
The second door.
I suddenly wonder how old those locks are.
I wonder if they were built to lock out this much hatred.
Somehow I don’t think anything is.
I peer through the dark —
The third door.
I wonder whether I should move.
He’s stronger than I am; his hands grip much harder.
I have reason to know.
He’s close now —
The fourth door.
Don’t make a sound.
Maybe he’ll give up.
He never gives up.
I hear his footsteps.
He’s close now.
I can see the shadows of his boots beneath the last door.
He’s only feet from me now, doesn’t know it yet.
Too late to run.
I should have run —
The last door flies open.
I’m blinded by the light that pours in.
I see the outline of him coming for me —