I look ahead at the darkness that my brain strands me in every night. I know what is going to happen, but still I hesitate, looking behind me, wondering if that is better. I know that it's not though, so I take off running into the unknown.
It goes on forever. I turn around for just a moment and think once again about turning back. After all, the feelings I have when I'm back there are the feelings that I've had for the last ten years of my life. I'm used to those feelings. The fear. The sadness. The self-loathing.
Instead, I trudge on, because any life will be better than the one that I have been living in. I close my eyes so I can't see where exactly I am running. I'd rather not know. As long as it is different. As long as he's not there. As long as he is out of my life... Forever.
Nobody can help me. I haven't told them. They wouldn't believe me. Even if they did, they wouldn't understand. I don't want their pity. Their sympathy. I. Just. Want. To. Forget.
He won't let me though. Not only do I see him in this nightmare every night, but anytime I need to get gas for my car, he is there. I want him gone. Out of my life forever.
However, just like I do each time, I run into his tall form. He pops out of the air directly in front of me, and after I collide with him, I land on the cold hard ground. I scurry away from the man who has been my biggest fear since that day.
No matter how far I scoot away from him, he closes in on me. I can't get away from the horrible man and I start to panic. I realize that I never will be able to.
He towers over me but doesn't try to touch me. I don't know what I would do if he touches me with the hand that brings a searing pain to my skin that has been imbedded into my subconscious memory.
He looks down at me. Smiling at me. Teasing me. "You were fearful," he says to me, "nothing has changed."
"I was a child!" I yell at him, "I had a right to be afraid. I have a right to be scared now! It's all because of you!"
"No, my dear, it's because of you," he spits at me.
"It's your fault!"
"Nonsense. You were weak."
I tried to move away from him but he slammed his foot down onto my abdomen. I couldn't move; I couldn't get away. I was trapped with him forever.

I wake up thrashing under the covers. I throw them off of my face and look over at the alarm clock and see that I am late for school. Both of my parents should be gone by now. I was already late, so why not make today the day I have been planning for the past week.
I stand up and throw on clothes before going into my parents bedroom. I grab what I needed out of their room, run out to my car, and head towards the gas station. I was going to confront the man. I was old enough now to take care of myself.
I take the first parking spot I see but I leave the car running. I have no need to turn it off and park it. I'm not going to take long talking to this man.
I walk inside of the old store that smells of cigarette smoke and beer. I see him working at the cash register helping a small old woman that was paying for a chocolate milk that I'm sure is expired.
I get in line behind a middle aged man who is dressed nicely in a dark blue suit. He smells of expensive cologne and stands straight, not slouching even a bit. It is understandable that this man is here. After all, the store does have the best gas prices in town.
Once the man pays for his gas, it is my turn. I step up to the desk and, without looking up, he asks me what I need; gas or item. I am silent, causing him to ask me again. When he goes once again without a response, he looks up and our eyes lock. He has the nerve to chuckle.
"I'm guessing gas," he says nonchalantly.
"I'm here for something else today," I pull the item I had taken from my parents room and hold it out in front of me. The man sees the object and takes a couple of steps away from me with his hands held up in surrender.
"Don't do anything stupid," his voice shakes with fear and his actions cause me to smile widely.
"Look whose afraid now. You. You are the scared one. You are the weak one now," I yell at him. I hear the bell that is on the door ring, signaling that somebody has walked in. I know that this person will call the police, so I do what I came here to do.
I pull the trigger.
One. Two. Three.
Blood seeps from his chest. He is still alive of course, and his eyes never leave mine as he begins to sink down to the floor. His eyes plead with mine as he mouths the words I'm sorry.
"It's too late for that." I pull the trigger one more time. The bullet cuts through the air and goes into the mans forehead. Blood spatters everywhere and I snicker as he falls to the floor lifelessly.
I drop the gun and look at the young girl that had walked through the door just seconds ago. She is no more than eleven years old and she has a credit card in her hand. I assume that her mother or father sent her in to pay for the gas, and instead she had to witness me murder a monster.
I walk over to the shocked little girl and tell her to run to her mother and tell her to call nine-one-one. She nods slightly before running out the door. I slide down the side of the wall and wait for the police to arrive. I know I could run, but I am not going to try to hide what I did like the man did.
"Police, put your hands up," I hear a man yell. A gun is pointing at me so I raise my hand. I am able to see another police officer run to check behind the counter.
I smile. "He's dead."
Next thing I know, I'm sitting in an interrogation room with a man sitting in the seat in front of me. He is asking me why I shot him, which I had told him I did the moment I sat down.
"Because," I begin, "I'm tired of being afraid."