I am walking along the road, the road that leads to home and I see him. I do not know him but for some reason I know there is a significance. He is casually dressed and wearing a grey hoodie which is pulled up, yet, I can still see his face. I can see that he is young and as he walks towards me I feel afraid. I am not usually one to judge others based on appearance, but, this is different, it is his eyes, the window to his soul, I see evil.
I keep walking and we are getting closer to each-other, I know he is not going to just pass me by, yet, I keep walking, my heart pounding.
He stops directly before me and we look into each-other’s eyes.
I only see the glint of the knife and I think I am going to die.
I do not recall much of the attack when I awake a day later.
The nurse checks my IV drip, it seems that she has done this every time I manage to wake, briefly, I am glad of the oblivion, there is so much pain in my stomach and I wonder if I am dying.
It has only been a day, but I do not know this until the nurse tells me that I have been hospitalised for just one day. I have had surgery. I am asked if I remember what happened and I say I only have a vague recollection. The police are waiting to talk to me, but she has told them I am too ill to answer questions yet. I ask about my mobile phone and I am told that I did not have any belongings on me. He has taken my bag and my phone. My mobile is a pay-as-you-go and I know I had very little cash in my purse and no credit card, my debit card had no PIN number with it. I try to recall what else was in my bag but its too irrelevant, maybe just tissues and lipstick, he did not choose well.
It has been three days since the attack and I am out of danger now according to the doctor and I am now in a normal ward to recover, there are other women here and they are constantly chatting. I ask the nurse to keep the curtains around me closed, so I can hear them, but I cannot see them, or they me. I am not ready to be sociable, although I have spoken to the police.
Several weeks have passed since the attack and I have been home recovering for the last three weeks. The police have not had any success in finding my attacker and I wonder if they are even looking any more.
I am still afraid. I do not leave the house. The doors and windows are securely locked. I cannot sleep, if I do I see his eyes, I feel the knife entering my body over and over, even though I do not remember it happening. I have nightmares when I sleep. I remembered that my diary was in my bag, he must know where I live. I think he will come and hurt me. I do not answer the door bell. I peep through a gap in the curtains to see who came to the door, it has not been him.
Three months after the attack the police tell me they have found my bag, only my purse was missing, my diary was still inside. Maybe I think he did not read it and he will not come here. I am glad that I always keep my house keys in my jacket pocket and not in my bag or I would have had to have the locks changed.
I decide I must go for a walk, get some fresh air, start to live, maybe he did not look in my diary and he does not know where I live.
Several months have passed and I am almost healed, but I have scars, always there to remind me. I am getting better every day, I can walk without fearing every footstep I hear behind me. I do not panic when I see someone wearing a hoodie. The nightmares are less frequent now. I am getting stronger every day.
It has been a whole-year and I tell myself that I have put the whole incident behind me, I refuse to let that thug ruin my life any longer. I may even start to look for a job again soon, make some friends, make some money, go on holiday, just like any other normal person my age.
I am walking home.
I am walking home through the park from my new job and I am happy.
I stand at the crossing and across the road is a young boy wearing a hoodie, it is pulled up, but I can still see his face.
I feel afraid, there is something familiar about him. He looks directly at me from across the road, and he suddenly recognises me, he smirks.
He starts to cross the road towards me, but he does not look at the approaching traffic, he steps forward and I see as he is thrown into the air by a speeding car.
They tell me he died on impact. I am sad for him, I am sad for his family. I am sad for the life that has ended so young. I know he was prepared to take my life, but I had forgiven him. Rest in Peace. THE END.
Justice- maybe it was justice, or fate or just coincidence. I love to think about the message my stories tell. Its important to me. A story is of no value if it doesn’t teach us something, well that what I think anyway. I write lots of stories, many of them are about strange coincidences and unexplained events. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Look out for those coincidences.