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Jefferson Jackson · (10-19-2016)

The sound of a medicine cabinet slamming and glass shattering. An indestinct chanting in the background as a score: slowly then more intense.

AHHHHHH!

[Image: 20161019_082731.jpg]

The cold wet morning street shows at ground level. Tall buildings abound on both sides, an abandoned intersection with a yellow light, then red. A streetlamp flickers, energy heard pulsating through the malfunctioning lightpost. A voice takes hold, deep but with a vibrant shakey undertone.

Running scared,
Look behind,
A crazy man,
That look in his eyes.

A seemingly skitzophrenic scene of a man running down the empty facade while panting uncontrollably, and exhausted... drenched with sweat as if running all night. A close up of his face reveals darkness but his eyes glow and shift side to side as he sprints faster; the city night lights behind him streaming out of focus.

He seems so driven,
Is he from the past,
Can’t stop to think,
Gaining ground fast.

The panting turns to weazing, coughing, but he continues on. Up concrete steps then running through a complex; determined to get somewhere right now.

[Image: 20161019_082606.jpg]

Over a fence,
Around hidden corners,
Pursuing with madness,
In the night through every corridor.

His hands begin to shake, he stops and looks down, then behind him fearfully realizing his motion has ended. The chanting gets louder, unsure if the man hears it or if it is just background noise.

Out of breath,
Exhaustion becoming costly,
If adrenaline doesn’t kick in,
He will surely leave a body.

Beginning to jog again, the pouring beads on his forehead collect and run into his eyes. Tucking around a corner with his back to the wall, he peaks back out, simultaneously trying to wipe the sweat from his blurring vision with an equally soaked arm. Just then he sees something, the only view is of the fright in his expression around his glowing eyes and the silhouette of his shadow on the wall from a dim porch light casted from above. He tries to run but his legs are weak. Another shadow appears as a struggle ensues.

Panic again,
A bitter sweet taste,
Swiping at an arm,
Swing back, pick up the pace.

The struggle goes back and forth between the two mysterious figures, against walls a test of strength evenly matched. The chanting reaches a climax at the same time.

[Image: 20161019_082934.jpg]

He groans deeply,
Blood on his face,
He falls to the ground,
But up again in a daze.

The second shadow falls to its knees hurt and groaning. The first backs away to run, then stops at the end of the building with realization.

This is the chance,
Matter of truth,
He must go now,
Or soon it will be you.

Methodically walking back to be careful he surveys the condition slowly. The chanting calmed to a whisper.

Coming back to finish,
He leans against a wall,
His eyes hit the light,
To your knees you fall.

The man falls to his knees mirroring the one hurt, they both look up at eachother as the light hits the peak of their foreheads. The chanting picks up, each pattern louder and louder until deafening.

It is the man,
The same one you know well,
Blink to regain your sanity,
Open the mirror and never tell.

[Image: 20160717_130916-400x300.jpg]

The man is back in his bathroom with the shattered glass from the medicine cabinet below. He stares incoherently for a moment leaning looking into his own eyes. His internal fear collides with reality, a moment of clarity. A big sigh just before he looks up and sees writing above the mirror. 'ThE WiTcH DoCtOr'. The chanting stops. His eyes bloodshot with panic... he blinks. Fade.

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