Sleep.
The word echoed in my head as I was lying in bed.
You should be asleep.
I rolled onto my side and squinted at my alarm clock as its red numbers almost blinded me.
It's 3am. Go to sleep you idiot.
My stomach grumbled as I remembered that I skipped dinner. Again.
Stop skipping meals, dumbass, it's unhealthy.
I sighed as I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. As I opened the fridge, its cold light illuminated my roommate. Passed out on our couch, bong in hand, lighter close by. I shook my head as I reached for the leftover sausages from last night.
What a fucking loser.
I made no effort to move quietly as I threw the sausages in the microwave and set the timer for 2 minutes. As I was waiting, I got on my knees and rested my chin on the cool countertop. It felt nice.
What the fuck are you doing? Go to sleep!
I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind as I watched my early breakfast slowly rotate in front of me. The seconds passed like hours as I watched, mouth salivating as I thought about the food I would soon receive.
Well if you're not going to sleep, do something healthy. Go for a goddamn walk or something, idiot.
As the thought entered my mind, I glanced at the door of our little apartment. It was tempting. Very tempting.
Fucking do it.
My knees almost creaked as I stood back up, causing me to wince as I righted myself.
20 years old and you already have the body of an old man. Pathetic.
I dragged myself to the door, grabbed my keys, clumsily crammed my feet into some shoes, and left.
Finally.
As the fresh air met my skin, a small smile crept onto my face.
Don't get any ideas, you're still a fucking loser.
As quickly as it came, the smile left. As I walked to the nearest park, I looked up at the sky. There were no visible stars, just the moon. A full moon, bright enough to dimly light the leaves scattered on the ground.
Probably because of that bastard Mr Johnson and his fucking leaf blower.
Reaching the park, I noticed that some of the street lights were flickering.
Well that's clichéd.
Thinking nothing of it, I started walking around the lake in the centre of the park. It was a peaceful night, the lack of cicadas partnered with the gentle lapping of the water against the shore was calming. My anxiety started to fade as I focused on my breathing, and the sounds of nature around me. But then I reached the bridge, and I saw him.
Who the fuck is that?
A man was standing about 100m ahead of me on the other side of the bridge. Only he wasn't just standing.
Is he... limping?
As I watched him limp, I noticed something strange. He was limping like he was dragging something behind him, yet he held nothing. He was a thin man, with long messy hair, wearing a tattered coat which was a size too big for him. As he limped, he looked at the ground. Head tilted downwards slightly, a solemn look on his face.
What a fucking weirdo.
I decided to continue along the path instead of crossing the bridge. I wasn't a fan of homeless people. As I turned away from him and started walking, I tried to focus back on my breathing, but all I could think of was his unsettling limping. I looked back to where he had been, to see if he was still crossing the bridge, but he wasn't there.
What the fuck...
I quickly scanned the direction he had been moving, and I saw him. He was on my side of the bridge now, facing me, slightly crouched. It had been no more than 10 seconds between looking away and looking back, so I knew he had moved fast. He was no longer limping, just watching me. Terrified to look away, I stared back. Minutes passed, maybe even hours, I didn't know. All I knew was that I couldn't look away.
You're going to die all alone. Just like you deserve. Well done.
Then suddenly, he turned around and started limping away. I didn't move, watching to make sure he left. I watched him until he almost disappeared from sight, starting to round a bend in the path in the distance.
Yeah, you'd better run!
I turned back around and continued walking, glancing over my shoulder every now and then, just in case. After the fifth glance, I noticed something. He was getting closer. He was coming back. Fast.
Oh shit...
He wasn't limping anymore. He was sprinting. Arms outstretched like a zombie, same solemn look on his face. But this time, he wasn't staring at the ground, he was staring at me.
You need to fucking run. NOW.
But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. They couldn't move. I was frozen, captured in his wild eyes. He was getting closer, legs pumping like a well-oiled machine. As he passed the bridge, he opened his mouth and an otherworldly screech broke the calm of the night.
Now would be a great time to fucking run you lazy cunt.
But there was no time, he had almost reached me. As he got closer, his expression changed to one of pure hatred, screech getting louder. And as he came within a metre of me, a final thought ran through my mind.
You deserved this.
