Running running running running. That was what I did, for a long time already. But the feeling wasn’t gone yet. I didn’t even know where I was, that’s how far I ran. I was in some slum, which wasn’t really smart. I had to go to the center. No, not to the center. It’s too busy there. No fuss. I didn’t want fuss. I wanted rest. Just be alone. The feeling got worse, so I ran faster. But still, the feeling didn’t go away. I asked myself if it would ever go away. I was too scared to look behind me, so looked ahead, to the dirty and empty street of I don’t know where. I wanted to give up. I wanted to let myself fall on the ground and lay there until it was over. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t give up. I had to carry on for a while. Even though I didn’t know how long that ‘while’ would take. It could take for ages. But I hoped it would go away quickly. The feeling. The hateful feeling. The annoying feeling. The terrible feeling. The awful feeling. The horrible feeling. The scary feeling. The feeling that someone’s eyes are burning in your back 24 ours a day. The feeling someone's stalking you.
