I suppose it's a bit disingenuous to say it "happened to me" when, like everything else that's threatened the life I've created, I've done it to myself. But the part about not feeling safe anymore is true enough. It's a odd thing to not feel safe because of your own behavior. Your own bad decision-making. Your own mistakes, over and over and over again.
She was looking over her shoulder when it happened, her eye caught by a flash of pink the store window. And then she was gone. And I am here. But I am not safe. I think I'm next.
After all, if it could happen to her, why not me? And, you should ask yourself: why not you?
I always thought the threats were outside of my body, and I could retreat to the safety of my own convincing. But suddenly I realized that the danger came from inside. With a rush of heat, a plunge of sweat, a ringing louder and louder, the threat would make itself known. My own fear was attacking me.
Graffiti stained the walls: an urban eulogy.
And the tinnitus of silence fell in a lonely mist around my head.