Walking down the road, heading home. The feeling of being watched. Turning, but seeing no one. The feeling persists.

  Feeling nervous, speeding up. Still, eyes on my back. Looking at a window’s reflection but again seeing nobody but me.

  An overactive imagination, possibly. Maybe just a skittish animal. Still, to err on the side of caution is to keep oneself from harm. A hurried walk turns into a jog.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Unblinking eyes continue to follow, through the empty streets. No one there, but maybe someone. A stalker, perhaps. Fear spreads.

  Running at full tilt. Almost home. Hope and fear combine with adrenaline, breaking personal records. Almost safe.

  Walking up the stairs, fumbling with keys. Finally, the right one. Opening the door and walking inside. Turning to close it and looking back. The streets are cracked and filled with weeds. The houses are dark and falling apart. Not a single living creature in sight. Completely alone.