You know that feeling when you are out late at night, and you know that something is getting too close to you. Well I was feeling like that. There was a crunch reminiscent of thin ice being broken and faint sounds like laboured breathing. But it was so dark that I could not see more than a foot in front of myself. So I allow my feet to keep moving me homeward. Then the fine hairs on my neck are raised when I feel warmth, where no heat had a right to exist. I ‘will’ return in the morning with a camera.
My post this week is from My Memoirs, I was twelve years old.
This week I may struggle to comment, but I ‘will’ read all the flash fiction stories that are posted on the Friday Fictioneers site this week.