Room of Pretend

An overwhelming presence.
Behind me; running.
I can see it, no. I sense it.
I can practically taste the impact.
I can feel the wind knocked out of me.
I hear the footsteps, running.
Fast, angry, desperate.

I turn, place my back against the wall.
My eyes dart around the room.
Daylight shines onto a room of pretend,
A room filled with imagination,
Filled with projected unconsciousness.
Filled with my insanity.

My breathing quickens, my pulse races.
I shake, can’t move, can’t think.
I want to scream, but I can’t.
I want to cry, and I almost do.
But it hurts.

Then it ends.