I can't move.
Not my feet anyway. My chest is heaving. Sweat is dripping down the back of my neck and the ridge of my brow. My heart is pounding through my shirt. Worst of all, my mind is racing. The thought of every possible outcome is shooting behind my eyes at a mile a minute. I still can't move. I want to run, to scream, to escape. My feet are glued to the shiny white linoleum. My voice catches in my throat. I can't leave.
The lights are going out. One by one, I can hear the high watt fluorescent bulbs popping. The blinding shadow is crawling towards me, threatening to swallow my frozen body. The hallway is now dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the dirty, film covered window in front of me.
Maybe I can jump. I don't think it's that far down. I'm three stories up... I don't know how many feet that is, but maybe I can make it. Yes, I'm sure I can! I can get a running start. I'll turn in mid-air and hit the double-paned glass shoulder first. Time will slow and I will feel the window give way. Slowly at first, starting with a crack. Then, like a spider's web, cracks will radiate across the surface of the once smooth glass before an explosion sends a shower of deadly crystals to the pavement below. After that it's just a short fall. My stomach will meet my voice, still stuck in my throat. My feet will hit the shiny black ground and my knees will buckle. My shins might break, my knees might blow out, I might cry, I might scream. But then that could be a good thing. Someone might hear me, might rescue me, save me from this hell, this nightmare.
Or maybe I'll die. My body will hit the ground like a rag doll, my limbs splayed, ready for a chalk outline that Picasso would be proud of. My head will break open like an egg, spilling my racing mind around like a bloody halo. The dying orange street lamp will act as a spot light for the next person to walk by and find me. It will all be over.
Neither of those things will happen though. This torture will not end. I'm not that lucky. What did I do to deserve this? I live my life without anger or regret or fear... at least I did. It's not fair!
Oh no... it's happening...
The hairs on the back on my neck are standing on end.
I can't move...