Chased You are being followed. You have always known, even as a child. You have never seen the person, though it might not be a person. You have no way of knowing. Sometimes, you talk to it. You never say anything of importance, just outline the rough events of the day, the few that there are. You often wonder why it listens, your life is boring, and all events are repetitive. Maybe it isn’t listening. You have no way of knowing. It is almost midnight as you walk down the empty, gloomy street. You like to take midnight walks to clear your mind, and apparently so does it. A fog has set in, surrounding you. You should feel intimidated, but you have been surrounded, followed you whole life. The fog tries to protect you, obscure its vision but nothing can fight it. You know that. You hear the clink of the pint glasses and the cheers from the crowds of people coming from the pub across the street. You can almost smell the stench of alcohol of people’s breath. You know the smell well. During your childhood, your father would come back with that smell on him as he stumbled into the house early in the morning. You had grown up with it and as you started to go to the pubs late at night, it had lingered around you. And now as you wander the streets, the smell was following you. It was the smell. Most people have a favourite smell and a smell that they despise. The stench of alcohol was your favourite smell and also the smell that you hate. It was the only smell you knew. You stumble down the street, limping and dragging your leg behind you. You feel a searing pain shoot again and again down your leg and you feel helpless. You feel the stones of the cobbled road beneath your feet. You know they are cold, but you do not feel it. Your feet are numb like your mind. You feel for the wall for support. You need help but you are alone. There is only it. You have never had a home. Even now you wander the streets at night. You have no friends to call for help and no family sane enough to support you. You have always been alone; apart from it. But now you are struggling and have no one to uplift you. It would not help you. You fall to the ground but don’t give up. Never give up you have always told yourself. Never give in. It falls with you, not for comfort but out of pity. You drag your limp body, along the road, determined to reach the end, if there is in an end. You have been on the same street your whole life and you always seem to end up in the same place. Maybe you never left. You don’t know.
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