Five Days

This is just something random I cooked up and spewed out. It's a little different from what I usually do, but i enjoyed the outcome.

Day One:

I look down the street and see him staring at me.  He's tall and wearing a white cloak.  I

can't make out his face.  His arms cross his chest as though he rests in a coffin, and in his

right hand rests a long sickle.  Nobody can see him but me.  The masses shamble past as though

he weren't even there.  Even though I can't see his eyes, I know they mark me.  For what?  I'm

afraid.  I run and make it away, and soon lose the incident in the mayhem of daily life.

Day Two:

I see him again, in my dreams.  He follows me through the crowds, and I can only move as if

through deep water.  The people part for him, making a path right to me.  There's no escape. 

He grips the scythe with both hands and approaches.  I awake.  The rest of the day passes in

fear of the creature, but I don't see him again.  Maybe it was all just a bad dream after all.

Day Three:

The demon waits for me at the bus stop!  Just when I thought it might be over and I might be

safe.  He raises an arm and beckons me with a slender finger.  Fear takes me and I turn around,

pushing back through the crowds on the sidewalk.  I look over my shoulder and see the tall

figure pursuing me slowly.  He glides through the people effortlessly, and I can only hope that

he doesn't reach me before I escape.  Nearer and nearer he comes, his hand yearning for me.  I

break from the crowd and sprint off, not daring to look behind me, only stopping when I think

I've escaped once again.  But I can never be sure.

Day Four:

Is there no solace?  I open the door and see him across the street.  My only option is to run

and lose him in the streets.  He slowly turns his head and watches me flee.  I pass alley after

alley, and he stands in each one to tell me how futile this is.  I see him in the crowds again,

and I see him down the street.  He takes long strides after me, but I spot a large cathedral

and enter inside.  I collapse in the aisle and pull myself into a pew as the sun sets and stops

projecting through the stained glass windows.  Exhaustion overcomes me and I cry myself to

sleep.

Day Five:

I wake up in the church, but I know I'll find no sanctuary here.  The tears have stopped

streaming, and my heart is too tired to beat fear through my veins.  The doors to the chapel

open.  I can't gasp, can't breathe.  A hand touches my shoulder lightly, and I know it's the

end.

Author's Note

Should it end the way it does? I didn't stop to think much on the "plot," but maybe there's a better way to run the whole idea.