with bated breath

with every step forward,

another hair rises on the

back my neck, as if the

air itself whispers caution.

the true cause, unknown…

the feeling, unclear...

yet, intuition does not rest;

it leans on the urge to look around…

i see nothing.

then why does 'nothing' feel like

'something'?

i don't know.

i continue…

i walk and think.

i think about tomorrow.

(try to)

i think about work.

(try to)

i give in to the deafening silence.

no engines revving here or there.

no dogs barking in the distance.

even the crickets have gone silent.

the only sound are the soles

of my shoes meeting the pavement.

the air is still, thick and humid.

the energy of the moment skews,

as though a hidden pair of invasive eyes

watches my every move.

i walk these neighborhood streets

almost every night, familiar to me as

the sound of my own name.

it has never become anything resembling

fear.

until now...

near the next corner,

i'm going to pass a black mailbox.

it's the only black one in a

uniform row of white ones.

it tells me there's a

quarter mile until I reach home.

i see it. it's there.

it's open.

why is it open?

all the others are closed.

why would the only different colored one be

open?

coincidence?

i anticipate walking past it,

expecting to see something inside.

it's empty.

i'm tempted to shut it, but I let it be.

it’s not my problem.

i continue my walk but

slightly faster.

if I run, I'm admitting there's something

out here bent on leaving me rattled, or worse, a statistic.

but there's no reason to be spooked since

paranoia twists everything into its own sick little game...

an internal ringing begins jamming my ears.

the fuzziness returns, spreading cold dread

across my skin.

i look around again...

several yards behind me,

the black mailbox is shut!

an immediate sharp chill down the spine

lands in my stomach.

did I imagine it being open?

it doesn't matter.

fear takes the wheel.

i run...