run.

It was mid-day and the sun was high in a cloudless sky. There was a sharp bite in the air, as the season was turning. She loved running in layers, with her shin-high socks and light windbreaker. The chilly air wiping past her face, reddening her cheeks and chapping her lips. It was this routine that made her feel most alive.

10

She’d taken this particular running route, with its small inclines and even pavement, more times than she could count. Knew without looking the hidden cracks in the sidewalk where she’d rolled her ankle on more than one occasion. Even without her trusted tracker, she knew that precisely when she turned the corner and followed the winding trail through the thick patch of wooded area, that she just hit her 2-mile mark. With her headphones blaring and her focus inward, she didn’t immediately recognize anything out of the ordinary. As it goes with muscle memory, it’s only when something is out of place that you bring yourself back into the moment. Allow yourself to scan your surroundings and observe from a logical place what about this scenario seems off. 

9

For her, it happened in slow motion. The most primitive part of her brain caught on before processing could even begin to tell her how to react. Her eyes, normally trained to watch the path in front of her, caught a movement to her right. Her heart, already pumping fast from exertion, skipped a beat, then sped up. Her lungs, which had previously been keeping time to her steps, stuttered. Her hands, in loose fists that were propelling her forward, went towards her ears to rip out her headphones. Her legs, toned and trained to keep moving, stumbled to a stop. Before she could even understand the threat, her mind had hijacked her body into compliance. Frozen to the spot, she turned her head, and screamed.   

8

He’d been waiting for so long. Watching for even longer. But it’s a predator’s duty to know his prey. 

7

His obsession had started out rather innocently. Months before, he had taken a walk to clear his head. On this occasion, he’d stormed out of his lousy job, again. Not that he truly cared if he was fired. But he just got so mad sometimes. When they talked to him like he was stupid and worthless, he felt the familiar white-hot rage build, then erupt. A comfortable fury he’d spent years stoking, he would seethe for days afterwards. 

He always went to the same spot, regardless of what was troubling him. Call it a habit from his youth, but he’d marked this particular tree as his. Years previous, when he was running from his high school bullies, he’d made it to the woods before them and, desperate, had scrambled up this tree as fast as his skinny limbs would let him. He’d watched, with both tremendous fear and delight, as his tormenters ran right below him without a backwards glance. Safe, at least for a moment, he’d then made himself comfortable in his tree’s tall branches and full foliage. Since then, he’d come back to this same tree, with its same concealed limbs, like his own personal holy place. A shrine that would soon bear witness to his worsening depravities. 

He had crossed paths with her on accident this day. While listlessly walking towards his tree, head down and hands in his pockets, she had almost, literally, ran into him. Wide-eyed, he watched her mumble through an embarrassed yet sincere apology. She’d touched him then. Just casually extended her hand and placed it on his shoulder as a final gesture before she took off again, hair messily bouncing in her ponytail and streaming behind her. Belatedly, he realized he had never said a word in response. 

It ate at him. He absolutely could not stop thinking about her. About their brief interaction. He wondered if she had thoughts about him too. Had she run into him on purpose? Was she running the same path in hopes she might see him again too? He did deserve her. He knew it in his bones. So, he did what he did best. He perched atop his tree and began watching. What was once an innocent desire to see her again had slowly twisted into something more sinister. Morphed into a pining that melted into hate. At first, he’d be so excited every time she ran through the woods. Would smile so big to see her glide by. Would hold his breath as she came closer. He had watched her in hopes that he might catch her looking for him. He longed for her to notice his absence, to seem puzzled that he hadn’t materialized in front of her like she did to him. He fantasized about the roles reversed. Would she let him place his hand on her shoulder? An innocent, casual gesture? But she never did. Never looked around. Never looked UP. Just kept running with her headphones plugging her ears and her eyes trained to the ground. He resented that. Resented that his thoughts were utterly consumed by her and she hadn’t spared a single thought for him. How dare she not give him the same respect. When he could no longer bare his bitterness, when his stomach turned to acid every time she would haunt his woods, he decided he had had enough. 

6

5

4

He had timed it perfectly. Knew within a 10-minute period when she’d round the bend. Could picture her running with his eyes tightly closed. Knew what her winded breath sounded like. He had memorized the precise amount steps she’d need to take from the rounded curve of the woods to his tree. 

3

He’d worn his old camouflage and did his best to conceal himself within the woods. Crouched down, he blended in perfectly. He knew so well how to shape himself into shadows. He’d spent most of his life cowering away in corners, hoping no one would notice how his eyes would incessantly track those around him. 

2

But now, he had a persistent restlessness in his soul. He had exhausted himself; wrestled with the morality of what was to come. This, he knew, would be the only thing that would bring him the peace he so desperately hungered for.

So, heart racing and mouth salivating, when he saw her approach, he stood.    

1