Saturday, 27 June 2015

Back There by Allie Costa

A noise.

A loud thump.

Something smacks into the wall against your bed.

You wake up with a start.

Everything is silent. Everything is still.

It was nothing.

It was just a dream.

This is your home now. You are safe now.

You have an early day at work tomorrow. (Today? What time is it?) (It’s dark. So dark. It’s the middle of the night.) You need to make a good impression at your new job. You need to make a fresh start. You should go back to sleep.

You don’t. You can’t. Not yet.

You rub your elbow, tracing the scar. It hurts.

You remember you live in California now. Maybe that was an earthquake. You wait for the aftershocks.

You wait.

You wait.


You breathe a sigh of relief and lie back down.

You breathe.

You are safe now.

You hear a noise again. Louder. Closer. Right outside the window. Right behind you.

The hairs on your neck begin to rise.

A noise.

A loud thump.

A voice whispers your name.

They found you.

[written to the prompt 'back window']

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