• My sneakers hit the sidewalk but still he chased me. My breath became labored as I turned a sharp corner and started down Mc Nellie hill. I could hear him chasing me, sometimes running close behind me, sometimes slowing don to make me look back. I kept running looking wildly around for a way to get out, but I could still hear him breawth8ig, I could run no more, and I fell to the ground hard, rolling to the bottom of the hill and crashing into some trash cans with a loud bang. The person who was chasing behind me sauntered up.
    “You tired?” he said kneeling down, placing his hand to the side of my face. His hands smelled of paint and blood. My head was bleeding and I winced when he touched his hand to it, and then took the blood to his lip. I closed my eyes trying not to look, trying not to imagine him licking my blood.
    “You know it’s fun to play with you Krista.” he cupped my head in his hands, gently, almost lovingly, but with a force not to joke with. He forced my eyes open to look into his ice blue eyes. “But you know, “ he whispered as he cradled my in his arms, “playtime is over.” He lifted me up to standing position, gently, like on who helps a child stand for the first time. I couldn’t believe, after all this time, I’m going to die, no I can’t die, I won’t let myself. I broke out of his grasp and into a limping run; he smiled mocking my steps, jogging beside me, a wide smirk on his face.
    “Aww, no goodbye Kiss. I’m shocked, Krista! You of all people would say good-bye!” I was tired, he’s just playing with you, like a child with a hurt dog, fun pain; I saw the joy in his eyes. I gulped a few times, trying to speak; he stepped in front of me, taking me into an embrace.
    “Shh, you don’t need to speak, just listen.” She took me over to a bench and sat me down. Smiling he took out a handkerchief and held it to my bleeding head. Who is this guy? He was still smiling after he clean me up, he put me on guard, and I don’t know why. Oh, wait, now I remember, her chased me for seven blocks! I remembered how he came up from behind me. How he said I left my wallet on the store counter. I had trust him, oh why had I told him my name! I was tired from running, but I was not about to doze off around him. My feelings where mixed beyond comparison. I felt that I was in danger, but I also felt a strange attraction to my assailant.
    “Who…?” he touched his fingers softly to my lips.
    “Who am I? Well, Krista, have you forgotten me already? After all that, hush now and rest yourself, then we can play again!” I shivered as he drew me for a hug. I racked my brain meats for any memory, any thing that might connect us. I didn’t like the way he said “play.” Chasing a girl for seven blocks just to see her get hurt was fun? I was getting angry but he pulled me in for a tighter hug.
    “You look so much like her,” he said darkly. I opened my eyes to see it. The gun. The gun that was slowly going to my head, it was silver, with a heart on it. I started crying, this is it, and this is my cruel end.
    “No Krista, don’t cry! They always cry, at the same time. See? It has a heart on it! I am not the angel of Death; I am the God of Love! And I love you Krista, I have ever since we met, and I want you to say you love me, Krista, say it. Like you mean it.” I felt him kiss my forehead, and then I felt the odd warmth of the gun. I was scared out of my wits. I heard the gun being cocked, readied for the final blow. I had stopped crying; I will not die. Not this way. I brought my arm up with failing strength gripping the gun and his hand, feeling the strange contrast of the warmth of the gun and the cold flesh that controlled it. It was a crazed last ditched effort; if it worked I would have saved my life, for now. If it failed…I opened my eyes to look at the face of my killer. He looked at me, a questioned joy on his face. I moved the gun from my head, down my face, past my neck finally ending over my heart. He looked on with shock.
    “No.” he whispered, drawing the gun and his hand back, I saw my chance, I pushed his arm up and out over my left shoulder, he shot off a round. He quickly over powered me and forced the gun to my face, he was just about to shoot off the next round when I shoved his arm up yet again the shot flying over my head. He grinned playfully, grabbing my wrist shoving my arm in front of my chest. I winced in pain as he pinned my arm over my neck, restraining my movements.
    “That was your last ditch effort? Tut my sweet, you shall rue the day… oh, wait, you can’t, because today is your last day.” Once again the gun was against my head easing itself softly against my skin. He pulled me close, whispering in my ear.
    “This is it, say your prayers and go to sleep.” I closed my eyes tightly, watching my life pass before my eyes. The life of a nameless face or a faceless name. The life of a person who would always be “just a friend.” I suddenly decided that this was a good fate, death in a park by a psycho. Headline news. Nothing interesting had happened thus far. I opened my eyes and watched him. His arm tensing and releasing, playfully reassigning me into anger. Why doesn’t he shoot? I’m here; he’s got me, SHOOT! My family will cry, my friends will mourn it will be a lovely funeral. My morbid thoughts seeped into my head. My senses heighten I heard everything; I heard…footsteps! Am I truly going insane? Is this the foolish thought of a dead girl? I tried not to think. Once again I made a plan. This one involved more certain death.
    “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!” I screamed into the night. He pounced on me his eyes grown wild and afraid.
    “Shut up! I won’t lose this chance again!”
    “Freeze!” I heard a voice; it was young, brave, and foolish.
    “No! I’m so close, so near to the end! She has to die! She has to!” I felt the warm gun away from my forehead.
    “Drop the gun Sir.” It had a clod edge and a slight slur. Once again the gun was against my forehead.
    “She must die, what she did to me I will not forgive her! She is a monster!” I felt a drop on my cheek. He was crying my assailant was crying.
    “Sir, she does not have to die, only a court of lay can decide that.” I felt quick movements as my assailant stood, dragging me in front of him. I looked a head of me into the dark. I could see nothing; the lamppost above us shone light down on us two. I saw slight movements in the corner of my eye. It was the person trying to help me. I hope. I was trying to focus on mundane things, instead of the gun against the back of my head, clothes! I was wearing my tennis shoes with jean patches, my jeans with bleached bottoms, my shirt with the black and white photo with the two children almost kissing, the boy had giving the girl a red rose, the only color on the shirt, my fish necklace, glasses, bead bracelet, gold bracelet with the old key, and watch. I turned my mundane observation to my assailant. He was in dark clothes, from head to toe. A back trench coat swished around as he franticly tried to kill me. My hero, I had taken to calling him hero, was all in white, with a white trench coat. Things and people were moving slowly. I saw a flash and I felt Ville, short for villain, slump over my shoulder, my whit shirt was soon soaked in his blood. The blood seemed to flow as if the hole in his chest had always been there. I tried to move but he was still slightly alive. He griped to my shoulder, pulling me back to him.
    “My Sweet Krista,” he weaved in my ear. Then he died. I moved slowly feeling his grip loosen. I walked away my head down. I felt arms around me.
    “Mam, are you alright?”
    “Nothing a few days with a therapist won’t solve.” I wiped at the blood on my shirt, looking at it disgusted.
    “Mam, I want you to realize, you almost died.” He turned me around and away my tear stained. Life hardened face.
    “But I didn’t”