Cold Sweat.

I feel my hands produce moisture around the black steering wheel.

The sound of car tires rolling to a stop on pavement.

I take one last drag from my cigarette.

Smoke lingering in a distorted halo around my head.

I adjust the dial on the broken radio that whispers sweet hymns to me when I’m alone. I am not alone tonight.

His yellow, feline eyes piercing me through my windshield.

I silently open the car door and my legs shake as I stand and stare at him.

The soft, blue-white mist that hovers after the rain goes fading as the sun dies.

Not losing eye contact with him I slowly, silently march around to back of the car.

The suddenly icy feel of the car’s metal against my bare, chapped hands.

I pop the trunk and pick The Box up.

Raw fear.

Do it. He says.

I whimper as I open The Box.

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