Keep Walking

I stand up with some effort. My body barely responds and I feel like everything is moving in slow motion. I can still feel the screams coming out of my own throat, and I shiver at the though. But now, strangely enough, I feel calm. I'm in shock, and I know it, and I need to get away from that street before I fall apart.

I bend down to brush off the dirt and pebbles from my jeans, and I notice a dark stain over my left leg. When I touch it, it feels warm and wet. Blood. It's not mine. I straighten up and fix my jacket and, as I do so, I notice more dark spots where the blood splattered my clothes. I hear the noise of something being chewed up and look in front of me. I see the creature, standing in all fours over a mass of flesh and bones, the torn out remains of a sweater scattered around. I'm glad I cannot see the face of my date or even make out his head. Maybe the creature already ate it up. I take a deep breath and turn around, walking as normally as I can.

I remember the story from internet, although not in detail, because my brain is not working properly at this moment. A human, subjected to tortuous experiments, turned into a monster that enters into a frenzy when its victims start running. Always hungry because the experiments made the acid in its stomach so potent that whatever it eats is dissolved before it is even digested. I remember the warning as I step one foot in front of the other, trying to control my impulse to sprint at any time. Don't run. My heart is beating so fast it muffles my ears, but I know that the creature doesn't care about my shaky hands or my fear. Just as long as I don't run.

It's hard to believe that a moment earlier I was stepping out of the bar down the street, holding hands with that guy and smiling as he complained about Johnny Depp's makeup in "Fantastic Beasts". I can see my date's face in my mind, and I inhale deeply, trying not to visualize his body on the pavement. I can hear the creature gobbling him up and I force myself to keep moving. I wonder if he will appear in tomorrow's news as the unfortunate victim of a certain serial killer. I wonder if they will dare to post a photo of the torn out body, or what's left of it. I wonder if there will even be anything left.

I cross the street without even looking around for cars. It's almost 2 a.m. on a Monday, and since most people go to work in the morning, the streets are empty. I remember I have an essay on Little Red Riding Hood for tomorrow. I will probably pull an all-nighter for that, since I haven't even started it yet. There are only two blocks left from my building, so I keep walking. Halfway through the second block, I start feeling sick, so I put my hand on the wall and throw up the burger and the beers on the sidewalk. I feel bad for throwing up, because my date paid for it, and now it seems like a waste of money. But maybe all he wanted was to hook up. I don't feel so bad now.

Once I'm done, I straighten up and take a few deep breaths. I raise my arm to clean my mouth with my sleeve and I see the bloodstains covering most of it. I feel my body shaking and hug myself as the panic attack worsens. I'm screaming but no sound is coming out. I start walking again towards the entrance of my building, and my legs start going faster. I begin running and try to pull my keys out of my pocket, but they are stuck. I hear a faint growl behind me but I don't look back. I'm almost there, just a few more steps. The creature's breath is warm against my neck, and the growl sounds more like a laughter now. I write a mental note: two blocks away isn't enough distance.