Okay, so my friend wrote this short story, but was too shy to post it under her name, so I did it for her. What do you think? She would love to know.
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I didn’t do it.
I swear.
It…wasn’t my fault.
Really, though. I wish they’d stop staring at me.
Please.
Please stop staring.
No. Not staring.
Glaring.
They’re glaring at me.
There’s a sound too.
A whisper?
A murmur?
No.
They’re yelling.
It’s quite amusing when someone is yelling at you and you zone out so much that it’s like they’re yelling at you on mute.
If I wasn’t in such a serious situation, right now, I’d probably be laughing.
The man came.
He took me by the elbow without a word and pulled me up from the cold plastic chair that I was just becoming accustomed to.
He was leading me away from them and out of the building.
Outside wasn’t any better though.
We both stood at the top of the concrete stairs and watched them.
A gang?
A mob?
A crowd?
Yes. A crowd.
They had the entire 6 story building surrounded.
As well as all the nearby cars and shops.
Some stood staring.
Some were in tears.
Others even yelled.
But I couldn’t help but notice the few who were game enough to evade the blockade that had been specifically put there to keep them out – or was it to keep me in? – and try to attack me.
I almost felt bad.
Almost.
I tried.
I really tried, to feel bad.
But my head blocked all those emotions from me.
Whenever I tried to feel bad, a new sensation came over me.
What was it?
It’s on the tip of my tongue.
The man started to pull me down the steps.
The crowd hushed.
All eyes were on me.
I tried to block them out.
I focused on the steps.
They looked so daunting, now.
When I was about halfway – or so – down the steps, a young girl threw something at me.
Damn it hurt.
It sliced my cheek.
What was it?
