Running With Imagination

It was winter. There was a chill in the air that was so remarkably cold it couldn't have just been the wind. Or the snow. There was something else in that air. Something sinister maybe. Intrusive. I started to walk faster but the stretch of land between my home and me was increasingly expanding. I could have sworn to that. I was constantly looking to my left, then to my right.

I picked up my pace. I heard rustling in the trees around me. My pink mittens weren't keeping out the cold like I had intended. The wind was biting my nose and ears. The snow started to furiously fall. Whipping me and beating me as I tried to get home.

As I got closer to my intended destination it started growing darker. Someones eyes were upon me, I knew this for a fact. I started to jog. I heard noises behind me. Sounds of crunching snow behind me as though someone was following me. I took a second and peered behind me. I saw a huge shadow. Faster and faster and faster. I couldn't go fast enough. My muscles were aching, my eyes were streaming with tears.

I finally made it onto my street. This was the moment of truth. As my feet beat the icy pavement that was below me, my heart beat at a rhythm all it's own. Like native Africans along the Congo River.

My house. My house. A hundred feet from my house. I knew my pursuer was close behind me. I leaped onto my porch, swung open the door and landed in the foyer of my home just as my captor would have taken me prisoner.

My family was enjoying dinner wondering what had taken me so long. I smelled turkey and potatoes as my face and hands started to sting from the heat of my house hitting the cold of my skin. I look out the door. No one was there.

Had there been a man chasing me?

Or had my imagination put him there?

I turned the lock on the door and went into the kitchen to have my dinner.