Chosen

I can run, but it’s not fast enough. I can walk, but I won’t blend in enough. I can stand still, but then they’ll only get to me sooner. The crowd around me swirls by in a blur. My heart is racing. I can tell that I’m walking in circles at this point, because even though the old stone buildings all look the same, I remember seeing the church with the open door.

The streets are narrow, but they open up into wide squares and quadrangles. Everyone is speaking different languages. My hands are sweaty. My pace quickens, then slacks, then I turn sharply and try to go in a new direction. They all lead back to the same square, somehow. Or maybe every square is alike. Someone bumps into me and my stomach flips into knots. Adrenaline. I’m hot in the winter air. I want to take off all my winter layers.

There they are. A circle of dots, closing in. I am the nucleus, the sun. I walk to the side, and they adjust, changing their pace. Each man is dressed in a blue suit, red tie, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging quickly by his side. They close the gap, now becoming a loose amorphous shape. Nobody will know what has happened.

Someone bumps into me from behind. I turn to see who it is, but he looks the same as all the others. I can feel the heat of the blood pouring down my back. It’s like I’ve wet myself. I’m back in bed now, a child, embarrassed, but then I’m back in that square, the blue suits drifting away from me but still focused. Somebody else notices the blood, and I hear a scream, then yelling, further and further away.