time for bed

It was twelve o'clock, and the street lights cast shadows in the deep tracks in the snow behind me. I knew they were following me. Where were they? My breath stopped as I glared into the eyes of each person passing by, and was surprised to find the glassy emptiness - normally ample fuel for a dizzying dementia - a relief. Nonetheless, the darkness seemed to have a thickness tonight, and I was careful to hurry my step lest I be caught and mired in their shadows as I passed. I felt the warmth in my hand, clutching a slippery jagged piece of glass.

I was vaguely aware of my nakedness beneath a coat I had found in a dumpster, but at this moment adrenaline both dulled my consciousness of irrelevant things and warmed my body against the bite of the air.

I had nearly begun to believe I had lost them when I caught the glance of a beggar in a doorstep. His eyes peered out lazily from underneath his thick, droopy eyebrows, but when they saw me they betrayed an unmistakable flash of recognition.

I could not resist my impulse was to run, but instead of away I ran straight at him. His, or I should say, its surprise confirmed my suspicions. It threw its hands up in a feeble attempt to defend itself, but the sharp tip plunged through its palm and into its cheek. I pulled my hand back and stabbed again, but my hand was empty. I must have lost my grip; the inside of my palm and fingers were lacerated deeply. Small trails of steam rose from the puddles of black blood on the ground - its or mine, I couldn't say - as I ran away, clenching my fist as my dark arm dripped onto the snow.

Ahead the streetlights grew fewer and farther between, yet I had no choice but to continue. My head snapped back every few seconds, but saw no signs of pursuit. I seemed to be alone. I leaned against a lamppost and tried to catch my breath, but my lungs could not keep up with my heart. I cradled my arm against my chest with a ferocious strength, as much as I could manage, but soon my knees buckled and I felt my consciousness slip away.