Touched

Individual Two

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People are everywhere. I cannot concentrate on where I am going. Or what I am doing. I think that this is one of those times when people say that they think their head is going to explode, which is wrong and stupid because their head is not going to explode. These are just words that people say to fill silence because they think that silence is wrong or bad, but it is not. There is nothing wrong with quiet, just like there is nothing wrong with being alone.

People are afraid of being alone.  They travel in crowds because it makes them feel safe. But we are at the top of the food chain, we do not have predators chasing us, trying to eat us, so we do not need crowds.

The only thing we have to be scared of is other people.

 I do not like crowds because in crowds people get touched in private places, or get stabbed, which makes their blood come out. I look at all the strangers around me, because strangers are dangerous and they will try to hurt me, so I watch them, so I will be ready.

I turn around and around, watching everyone. People stare at me, which makes me nervous, so I stare back and shout, or make loud dog noises, because loud dogs scare people. I begin to turn again when someone pushes me. I look at the person, who is a young man, and he scares me, so I scream at him and try to hit him, but he steps back before I can reach him. He wipes his pants, which are black with small, dotted, white stripes and says sorry, and I scream at him. He walks off quickly and almost falls.

I decide that I have to find a way out of the crowd, so that I can get home. I do not like people touching me, which is another reason I do not like crowds.

I walk past the park, which is mostly green, because of the trees and grass. I like the park, because people do not go there. It is quiet, and there is no one to say stupid things, or touch me, or stab me. I begin to walk to the park, to get out of the crowd, and decide that I will wait there until the crowd is gone, so I can go home safely. I get closer to the park, and I see the man who shoved me, watching leaves get pushed by the wind. He takes off his shoes and I wonder if he has sore feet, or if he lives in the park, because I cannot think of any more reasons why someone would take their shoes off in a park, because parks are dirty. I turn around and walk home, because the man scares me more than the crowd does, because he has tried to hurt me, and I do not want him to try again.