The Season

The Season of Mystery

It's been a while since I've had a decent workout. The air has been pleasant and chilly as I took a stroll around my neighborhood, though that didn't stop me from working up a sweat. Now I'm just thankful to finally be in this shower; sweat is another thing I'd have to get used to again. THUMP!

What is that?! Something must have fallen down. No one could be here. I know I locked the door, I usually check to make sure it's locked and it usually is. Then I hear coughing and a groan not too long after, as if someone mistakenly blew their cover. Oh, no! Someone must be here. My heart began to pound like a hammer, like when I used one to hang up the pictures on my walls of this townhome.

This is my very first, own place I bought a couple of months ago after moving out of my family's house, which I lived in for almost six months after I graduated from college.

It was rather unpleasant hearing that hammering that is now matching the present pounding sounds in my ears. Darn it! I don't usually lock my bathroom door, which I'm sure is unlocked. This intruder probably knows I'm here; not only because my silver hatchback is parked out front (due to the fact that there isn't a garage for these connected, simple homes), but because my shower is still on.

What am I going to do? I'm already having a hard enough time trying to revive out of my state of shock. And what if I turn my shower off? The intruder would know that I'm done. But, what if I keep the shower on? The stranger would probably sneak in and assassinate me, in the shower, like in that movie I've never seen but only saw imitations of. Either way is a risk. I'd rather be safe out than sorry in. So, I think it's best to turn the shower off, literally put my big girl britches on and see what this commotion is about.

Lord, watch over me and be my shield, I'm gonna need it most for my emotional state right now. In Jesus' name, Amen.

So I turn the shower off, carefully step out, and grab my large towel to briefly dry off my drizzly being. As I dry, I decide to lock the bathroom door before I start to change. If I'm gonna get targeted by my possible suspect, I'd rather be fully clothed. I don't take too well with my privacy being invaded. Heck, I'm having a hard enough time dealing with the fact that there is an uninvited guest here. I would expect spiders, ants, or worse, cockroaches. But, I will not tolerate my own species, I know full and well I did not invite, to this house.

After I was fully clothed, I didn't bother to spend time drying my dark, curly locks that would soon turn into a rose bush if I didn't put any moisturizer into it, but I had better pressing issues to deal with, like seeing who in their right mind would break into a rarely manic depressive young woman's house, nonetheless a previous heart patient a few years back. And someone who is still in the process of building up her developing ego, with a promise ring that has still been kept for all these years, gifted from her mother. So, I clip my dripping hair up, unlock my door, and with my heart never missing the rapid beats, gradually twist the stony doorknob. Now, all I have to do is pull this door open, wishfully glide down the stairs, grip the keys at the nearby table (good thing I kept my phone with me too, phew!), and run outside to a less intruded environment. So after a voiceless count to five, I finally open the door and peep my head out to check if the coast was clear. Thankfully, it is as silent and clear as the still waters on the picture I hung up next to my office door, which was the nearest room to my front door.

As I hurried out of the bathroom, I was determined to make a straight shot from my bathroom to my front door. After I'm fully out, I tiptoe down the hall, and turned to my right to courageously walk down the stairs. I decide to daringly take one step down at a time. Only, as I made it midway the stairs, before my eyes, I saw a refined, clean-cut man looking no less than about five years older than me. He looked like he could pass for a millionaire. He sat on one of the two chairs that stood adjacent to the table containing my pass to freedom as if he was waiting for an appointment in a waiting room.