I am running. Scattered dull lights dance past me in my peripheral vision. The only sounds are my harsh, broken breaths, and my feet smacking against the floor. I am running, though I am not afraid. If I can keep running, I can get away. They're closer now, catching up to me. I am fast, I can get away. I run towards the door to my house. Slamming into it with my shoulder, I fumble at my pockets. The keys. I left the keys. I turn, they're close. I can't give up this easily, I wouldn't dare. I throw myself at the window, which breaks with contact with my body. I sprint upstairs, I am running. I am running, but so are they. They climb in through my window, slowly drag themselves up the stairs. I am in my room, no longer running. There is nowhere left to run. There are not many of them, ten at most. But they are here, outside my door. They scratch and claw at the wooden slab between us. I pull my chair and frantically place it against the doorknob. I open my wardrobe and clamber inside, closing the door after me. They are here. No more running. An explosion of sound fills the room as my bedroom door crashes open. I now hear growling, and manic laughter, and my heart beating, and my breathing and footsteps. They are here. They slam open the wardrobe, and pull me out. I am small. They lift me, pulling at my clothes. They start tearing at my shirt and shorts, and remove my shoes. Fear. It strikes me. I am naked, like they are. They whisper things, strange things. I am naked, I am with them. It's over. The nudists have me.
