1:06//just a story written by me

1:06

     I opened my eyes again, after hours of trying to fall asleep. I turned my head to look at the clock again, seeing the flashing numbers of 1:06. It was 1:06 in the morning, and I still hadn't fallen asleep. I had tossed and turned, but nothing was helping. My bed was comfortable, the pillows plush, but yet I lay there, awake. After staying in the same fetal position for over an hour, I sat up, rubbing my tired eyes. My legs were swung over the edge of my mattress, and I rose, upright at the darkest stage of morning. My joints moved, my muscles tensed, my tendons were pulled, and I stood, staring into the wood of the front door with a light jacket on, a grey beanie placed on my charcoal hair, and my worn, black converse laced onto my feet. The bones in my hands stretched, the joints in my arms outright. Soon enough, my hand was placed on the door handle, and I opened the door, stepping into the dark of night, brightened by only the toxic glow of orange street lamps.

     My shoes made a distinct and repetitive tap on the pavement, and the crunch of the fallen leaves was the loudest noise of all. Cars sped by, bringing leaves with them. I had passed alleyways, old buildings, and antique shops, indicating I was in the bad part of the city. I paused for a brief moment, under the glare of the single white light on the entire street. When I did however, there was a crunch of leaves under heavy boots, but it hadn't been my feet. There was the unmistakeable feeling of eyes burning into my back, and then, I knew I wasn't alone. This town had someone watching me, and they weren't subtle about it. I held my phone in my hand, ready to call anyone. I quickly scanned the area, trying to find where this mystery person was. I then continued walking up the road, but fear had been struck into my head, forcing every step I made become filled with paranoia.

     Only minutes later, the person shows himself, standing on the opposite side of the street. It was a man with a mask hiding his identity, and chocolate brown hair. He was dressed in all black clothes, and he seemed demonic in the yellow glow of the street lamp. The main detail that was noticeable, however, was the large metal bat he was holding, clutched in his glove clad hands. My head whipped around, avoiding his gaze. But after a car sped by, I glanced over, only to realize to my horror that the man was gone.

     I continued walking, fear overwhelming my brain. After every step, I shakily scanned the area again. Every time, the man was nowhere to be seen, but the distant clang of his bat hitting the pavement rang in my ears.

     But as minutes passed, the noises became louder, the night got darker, and my terror grew worse. Soon enough, the clinks of the bat on the lampposts got closer and closer, and the uneasiness in my chest grew larger and larger. My heart was beating faster than it should have, my breathing uneven, and adrenaline was rushing through my veins.

     The lights flickered off, and I stood there, anxiety stiffening my body rigid. I could hear footsteps on the hard ground approaching. My heart was beating, my breathing was quickening, and my blood was cold.

     When the lights flickered on for a brief moment, I saw the face of the man, with the bat behind his back, ready to swing. I heard the whoosh of the bat, and the lights flashed on again. This time, the bat was only millimeters away from my nose, but as soon as it was about to touch my terrified eyes, I sat up, smacking my head onto the ceiling. My heart was still pounding in my chest, tears were streaming down my face, and I looked down to see the familiar bedsheets of my room, and the clock, with the blinking 1:07.