Revealed

Jan. 7th, 2012 

There was a man in the shop that night. He stood at the back of the store with his eyes wide and flickering across the room. He kept watching the door. I was working behind the rusty silver counter of my dad's old shop. It had only enough room for a few shelves and a checkout center. His light denim jeans were faded and torn and he wore a black shirt with a dirty green jacket that was way too large for his tiny body. An old baseball cap sat upon his head shading his eyes from view. He had a scruffy brown mustache that fell into a dirty salt and pepper beard. Something was hidden in his pocket and as I was trying to figure out what it could be he caught my glance and scowled turning his body to the opposing wall.  

"Hello," I said. He sneered and then jumped at the sudden sound of his own voice. He looked at the door and then moved deeper into the shadows. The rim of his baseball cap tilted up and I quickly looked down. I stared at my hand. My finger tips were coated with a layer of dust and my fingers were small and bony. I held the trigger down on the scanning gun and hovered the bright red light above the reflective silver counter. My forearms rested on it while I leaned into the ruffed edge. I continuously blew a stubborn strand of hair out of my eye.  

The bell of the shop door suddenly rang and a man stepped through. His face was concealed by the shadows his hood made in the dim yellow light flickering on the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the old man cower in fear as the man walked towards him. In one fluid motion, he punched the old man unconscious and continued to beat him until he fell dead. His hood fell as he then looked up, and took me into his acknowledgement. My eyes widened in fear as I dropped the scanning gun. I quickly studied his face before I made a run for it. I could hear his heavy footsteps along the sidewalk chasing after me. I knew I could outrun him. I knew my way around these streets better than anyone and I had always been a fast runner. But was that enough? I ran for miles through the streets of Manhattan with a stranger on my tail. The man looked very tough and well built. I'm sure he isn't going to give up on me anytime soon. He knew what I'd saw. I was a witness of a crime I wish I had never seen.  

My hair was plastered to my face; my arms limp at my sides. My feet dragged along the pavement with each stride I took forward. I could see my uneven breaths in the cool air of the night. I tried to keep my feet up not wanting to trip. Only the dim street lights kept me from stumbling into something. I quickly turned into a back alley hoping it would work; hoping he would run right past. I held in my loud heavy breaths and glued my back against the stone wall. I waited for him to pass but he didn't. In fact, I couldn't hear him at all. Cautiously, I crept my head around the corner still depriving myself of oxygen. He stood leaning against a car catching his breath. I jolted my head back out of sight as he slammed his fist down into the hood of the car. 

Slowly, I allowed myself to breath again and my shoulders eased from their tense position. I looked up at the iridescent glow of the moonlight that was hidden beneath the clouds. Listening as best I could, I waited for the sound of his footsteps to disappear. The only sound was that of the breeze and his heavy breathing. I peered around the corner once more and saw him sitting with his back against the car. He too was staring up at the sky. He looked pretty young in the glow of the street light. I felt my own nose when I stared at his and shook away the coincidence. His hair was light brown like mine and from what I could see his eyes were hazel, the same as mine. I slid down the wall and hugged my legs, exhaustion sweeping through me. My chin rested in between my knees. Grabbing a strip of hair and holding it in my hand I studied it and then looked back at his. So what? We have the same hair color. A lot of people's hair is brown, I thought. I looked down at the converse sneakers that I had spray painted black awhile ago. The air of a cool breeze felt sharp against my cheeks and I pulled down the sleeves of my red sweatshirt over my hands trying to keep warm. I blew the warmth of my breath into my curled up hands.