2023-2024, Short Story, Writing


By Marly Greene, ’25

I hate staying out late at night, the feeling of eyes lurking in the shadows. The melodies the wind makes when it knows you’re alone. It’s the feeling I usually get when I walk home. But this time it was different, a new set of eyes lurking in the shadows, preying on me, ready to pounce. I quickened my pace. The leaves crunch as I do. There usually isn’t anyone out late at night due to the mass hysteria of the media covering the recent murders, but here I was. My dark curls bounced in the moonlight as I began to turn the corner. The wind followed as the wisps of whoever was following me, trailed behind. My head twisting around, looking for whatever was out there, my heart beating as my footsteps turned into a sprint. My mind raced through thoughts. Thoughts of the victims, printed out gray on paper. The burgundy sight of the blood poured out, and trickled down my spine. The stickiness of it stayed on my body as I looked into their lifeless eyes. I still remember people creeping around the corner, ready to attack, reminding me that I could be next. Sweat emerges from my palms and onto my hands. I swung around, feeling my heart sink deep into my chest. The realization dawned on me, as I looked behind. The badges glistened in the moonlight. Sharp clicks of their guns clicked into place. I froze, lifting my arms above my head. Wondering if I’d make the headlines just like my last victims.