Sneakers strike pavement in a steady rhythm.
A podcast streams through one ear,
the other left open for the world.
.
My dog's tags jingle beside me.
He trots ahead,
certain every stranger is a friend.
.
Something feels off.
Don't turn around.
.
Hands-free leash.
Knife in my pocket.
Taser at my waist.
Volume low.
Eyes peeled.
.
Are those footsteps?
I turn the volume down completely,
pick up the pace ever so slightly.
.
My heart keeps finding reasons to beat harder.
Don't turn around.
.
Most nights there is nothing there.
.
Shadows.
Wind.
The imagination sharpened
by every story,
every warning,
every text that starts with
"Made it home."
.
Most nights there is nothing there.
.
Yet we carry it anyway—
that weight on our shoulders,
the possibility,
the probability,
that one night
there will be.
.
About the Creator
Shelby Larsen
Spinner of Fractured Fairy Tales
Drawn to justice, buried truths, and the silence between the lines
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