It’s about eleven o’clock and I’m running. My haste has led to the stumbling run to this point, a point that I thought and prayed that I would never reach in my life. I realise that my speed in turn has slowed me. I now precariously dodge the litter and the obstacles scattered on the dark and dingy concrete. Scanning the floor I see the beams from the street lamps bounce off the puddles. Each stride I take is followed by me turning round praying for a miracle. The dark grins as it is taunting me as the pipes, bins and walls around me tower over the alley with the menacing shadows capturing each breath as the leave me winded with fear. The rain is relentless hammering at me as the intensity of the storm forever increases. Sparks above me split the sky as the lightning flicks its forked tongue spitting venomous spite. Thunder above me almost seems to applaud the events unfolding as it watches with a sick delight. There is a drip from above me from the pipes and scaffolding from the brickwork, it taps me on the shoulder with icy hands.



I can hear it. Footsteps. I thought that I had gotten away. Each step echoes in the narrow and dark passage. Each step echoes my ears in time with the sound of my pounding heart. The panic washes over me as I feel paralysed. Inside I am screeching with the piercing sounds of terror you could even say that they were blood curdling, but my mouth makes no sound. The steps are getting closer. They are so close that I can almost feel them leaving me battered and bruised. I regain the feeling inside me. I have to move. Fast. It is almost impossible to move without making a sound but I need to try something. I find myself clambering around the floor, crouched behind the bins looking for the escape door or eject button to this nightmare. The footsteps that were drumming against the inside of my skull now sound as if they are pacing. I can only think about one thing right now. Just please dear God, if there even is a God. Please can all of this end and everything can go back to normal.



The shelter of the bin is ripped from in front of me. Exposure to the cold again burns at the skin on my face. The bin crashing on the floor frightens me and sends shiver in a frenzy up and down my spine. There is a dark silhouette standing in front of me. I would have to look up to absorb the entire figure my head is still firmly tucked into my knees. I can’t take my focus away from his hands and his shoes. Leather, black and laced tightly in a double knot to make sure they stay done up. A hand is lowered to reveal the leather gloves matching the shoes, how thoughtful he must have picked them out especially for this. My focus is abruptly stolen away from the thoughtful shoes. The hands are reaching into a pocket. There is a small glint. I know this isn’t a glint of hope. It’s a knife. I’ve got nowhere left to run and nowhere to hide. This is the end.