He’s still following me.
On my way home from work, I take a different route, but he’s still there. The man in the white mask, black hoodie, and blue jeans. His footsteps feel as dangerous as the mask he wears. I’ve reported him to the police. I was told to call immediately if he appeared again.
So I do.
I send the police my location when it was requested, my hands shaking as I walk faster. My breathing grows shallow. I'm hyperventilating as I make another turn, choosing a quiet, lonely part— Not the best choice in this type of situation, but it’s the quickest way home.
My eyes dart everywhere as I increase my pace more. Checking if he's still following me. I stop suddenly when I don't see him anywhere. He’s gone. Out of my sight.
Relief floods my chest, easing the adrenaline rush just
